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COMPLETF.   IN    TWO   VOLUMES 
VOL    I 


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POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


JAMES  MONTGOMERY. 


fllcmotr  of  tl)c  2lutl)or, 

BT 

• 

THE  REV.  RUFUS  W.  GRISWOLD. 
IN    TWO    VOLUMES. 

VOL.  I. 


BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS.   SAMPSON   AND   COMPANY 
1859. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1815,  by 

SORIN    &    BALL, 
to  the  Clerk'i  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


College 

Library 


CONTENTS 

OF 

THE    FIRST    VOLUME. 


PRISON  AMUSEMENTS. 

Page 

Verses  to  a  Robin  Red-breast,  who  visits  the  Window  of  my  Pri- 
son every  Day ^ 

Moonlight  20 

The  Captive  Nightingale 22 

Ode  to  the  Evening  Star 

Soliloquy  of  a  Water- wagtail  on  the  Walls  of  York  Castle    .        .    28 

The  Pleasures  of  Imprisonment 

The  Bramin.    Extract  from  Canto  I.      ,.'....    2 

The  Bramin.    Extract  from  Canto  II • 

A  Tale  too  true .        .    43 


Part  I. 
Part  II. 
Part  III. 
Part  IV. 


THE  WANDERER  OF  SWITZERLAND. 


51 

59 
63 


PartV  ............ 

PartVL         ...........    73 


THE  WEST  INDIES. 


Parti. 
Part  II 
Part  III 


Part  IV. 


101 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 

To  the  Spirit  of  a  Departed  Friend 

Canto  First     .        .        .        .  " J^7 

Canto  Second 

Canto  Third   .        . 134 

Canto  Fourth 

Canto  Fifth I5' 

Canto  Sixth 161 

3 


1326434 


lf= 


CONTENTS   OF   VOLUME   I. 


Page 

Canto  Seventh         .  J^9 

Canto  Eighth •      1"? 

Canto  Ninth 186 

"Canto  Tenth ...      193 

t 
GREENLAND. 

Canto  First 205 

Canto  Second 214 

Canto  Third •  ..223 

Canton  Fourth 235 

Canto  Fifth 244 

THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 

Canto  First 265 

Canto  Second •  272 

Canto  Third 281 

Canto  Fourth 289 

Canto  Fifth 298 

Canto  Sixth 304 

Canto  Seventh 317 

Canto  Eighth 326 

Canto  Ninth 332 

THE  CHRONICLE  OF  ANGELS. 

Part  I.     . 349 

Part  II 351 

Part  III 354 

SONGS  ON  THE  ABOLITION  OF  NEGRO  SLAVERY,  IN 
THE  BRITISH  COLONIES,  AUGUST  1,  1834. 

No.  I.     The  Rainbow 361 

No.  II.    The  Negro  is  Free 361 

No.  III.     Slavery  that  was 362 

No.  IV.    Slavery  that  is  not 363 

No.  V.    The  Negro's  Vigil:  Eve  of  the  First  of  August,  1834      363 

SONNETS,  IMITATIONS,  AND  TRANSLATIONS. 

A  Sea  Piece.    In  three  Sonnets 365 

Westminster  Abbey,  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  June,  1838  .  366 
Imitation  from  the  Italian  of  Gaetana  Passerini  ....  367 
The  Oak.  Imitated  from  the  Italian  of  Metastasio  .  .  .367 
Imitation  from  the  Italian  of  Giambattista  Cotta  ....  368 
The  Crucifixion.  Imitated  from  the  Italian  of  Crescimbeni  .  368 
To  a  Bride.  Imitated  from  the  Italian  of  P.  Salandri  .  .  .  369 


CONTENTS    OF   VOLUME  I. 


Page 
On  the  Siege  of  Genoa  by  the  French  Army  in  16**.  Imitated 

from  the  Italian  of  Gaetana  Passerini 3G9 

Imitated  from  the  Italian  of  Petrarch 370 

On  the  Siege  of  "Famagusta,  in  the  Island  of  Cyprus,  by  the 

Turks,  in  1571.     Imitated   from  the  Italian    of   Benedetto 

Dall'uva 370 

On  the  Sepulture  of  Christ.  Imitated  from  the  Italian  of  Gabriello 

Fiamma 371 

On  Judith  Returning  to  Bethulia  with  the  head  6f  Holofornes 

in  her  hand.  From  the  Italian  of  Giovambatista  Zappi  .  371 
Fom  Nun,  on  taking  the  Veil.  From  the  Italian  of  Eustachio 

Manfredi 372 

From  Petrarch 372 

The  Swiss  Cowherd's  Song,  in  a  Foreign  Land.  Imitated  from 

the  French 373 

Meet  again 373 

Via  Crucis,  Via  Lucis 374 

German  War  Song 375 

FROM  DANTK. 

Ugolino  and  Ruggieri 376 

Maestro  Adamo 379 

Dante  and  Beatrice 382 

The  River  of  Life 383 

The  Portal  of  Hell 386 

Anteus 387 

Cain 388 

Farinata       ...........      389 

Notes 3i)3 


MEMOIR  OP  THE  AUTHOR. 


JAMES  MONTGOMERY  is  admitted  by  all  the  critics  to 
be  at  the  head  of  the  religious  poets  of  the  present  age. 
Since  the  bard  of  Olney,  no  one  has  surpassed  him  in 
purity  of  sentiment  or  fervour  of  devotion.  For  half 
a  century  he  has  been  slowly  and  constantly  increasing 
in  the  popular  favour,  and  his  reputation  has  now  a 
compass  and  a  solidity  which  forbid  all  thought  of  its 
decay. 

Of  the  throng  of  competitors  among  whom  he  has 
won  his  laurels,  CRABBE,  BYRON,  SOUTHEY,  COLERIDGE 
and  CAMPBELL  have  gone  before  him  into  the  region 
of  the  Unknown  ;  and  ROGERS  and  WORDSWORTH,  his 
venerable  brothers,  are  permitted  with  him  to  linger  at 
the  gates  of  the  Future  and  listen  to  the  applauses  of 
posterity.  They  are  the  noblest  impersonations  of 
Piety,  Philosophy,  and  Taste,  and  they  are  all  im- 
mortal. 

In  the  last  and  completes!  edition  of  his  works,  pub- 
lished recently  in  London,  Mr.  MONTGOMERY  has 
given  in  various  prefaces  and  notes  an  account  of  his 

7 


MEMOIR    OF   THE   AUTHOB. 


life  and  writings,  from  which,  and  some  other  mate- 
rials, we  prepare  this  brief  biography. 

JAMES  MONTGOMERY  is  the  eldest  son  of  a  Moravian 
clergyman,  and  was  born  at  Irvine,  in  Scotland,  on  the 
fourth  of  November,  1771.  His  parents  determined  to 
educate  him  for  the  ministry,  and  at  a  very  early  age 
placed  him  in  one  of  the  seminaries  of  their  church, 
where  he  remained  ten  years.  At  the  end  of  this 
period  he  decided  not  to  study  the  profession  to  which 
he  had  been  destined,  and  was,  in  consequence,  placed 
with  a  shop-keeper  in  Yorkshire.  Ill  satisfied  with  his 
new  employment,  however,  he  abandoned  it  after  a 
few  months,  and,  when  but  sixteen  years  of  age,  made 
his  first  appearance  in  London,  widi  a  manuscript 
volume  of  poems,  of  which  he  vainly  endeavoured  to 
procure  the  publication. 

In  1792,  being  then  about  twenty-one  years  of  age, 
he  went  to  Sheffield,  where  he  was  soon  after  engaged 
as  a  writer  for  The  Register,  a  weekly  gazette,  pub- 
lished by  a  Mr.  GALES;  and,  in  1794,  on  the  flight  of 
his  employer  from  England,  to  avoid  a  political  prose- 
cution, he  himself  became  publisher  and  editor,  and 
changing  the  name  of  the  paper  to  The  Iris,  conducted 
it,  with  much  taste,  ability,  and  moderation.  It  was 
still,  however,  obnoxious  to  the  government,  and  Mr. 
MONTGOMERY  was  prosecuted  for  printing  in  it  a  song 
commemorative  of  the  destruction  of  the  Bastile,  fined 
twenty  pounds,  and  imprisoned  three  months  in  York 
Castle.  On  resuming  his  editorial  duties,  he  carefully 
avoided  partisan  politics,  but  after  a  short  period  he 


MEMOIR   OF   THE   AUTHOR. 


was  arrested  for  an  offensive  passage  in  an  account 
which  he  gave  of  a  riot  in  Sheffield,  and  again  im- 
prisoned. 

It  was  during  his  'second  confinement  that  he  wrote 
"  Prison  Amusements,"  which  appeared  in  1797.  In 
the  preface  to  the  first  edition,  he  says,  "  These  pieces 
were  composed  in  bitter  moments,  amid  the  horrors  of 
a  jail,  under  the  pressure  of  sickness.  They  were  the 
transcripts  of  melancholy  feelings, — the  warm  effusions 
of  a  bleeding  heart.  The  writer  amused'  his  imagina- 
tion with  attiring  his  sorrows  in  verse,  that,  under  the 
romantic  appearance  of  fiction,  he  might  sometimes  for- 
get that  his  misfortunes  were  real." 

Mr.  MONTGOMERY  returned  to  his  office,  and  with  a 
strong  determination,  "come  wind  or  sun,  come  fire  or 
water,  to  do  what  was  right,"  conducted  his  paper; 
and  his  taste,  judgment  and  integrity  gradually  over- 
came the  prejudices  which  the  course  of  his  pre- 
decessor, much  more  than  any  thing  he  had  himself 
written,  had  created  against  it. 

Referring  to  this  period  of  his  life,  he  tells  us  that  he 
had  "foolishly  sacrificed  all  his  friends,  connections, 
and  prospects  in  life,  and  thrown  himself  headlong  into 
the  world,  with  the  sole  view  of  acquiring  poetic 
laurels."  "  In  the  retirement  of  Fulneck,  among  the 
Moravian  Brethren,  by  whom  I  had  been  educated," 
he  continues,  "  I  was  nearly  as  ignorant  of  the  world 
and  its  every-day  concerns,  as  the  gold  fishes  swimming 
about  in  the  glass  globe  on  the  pedestal  before  us  are 
of  what  we  are  doing  around  them ;  and  when  I  took 


10  MEMOIR    OF   THE    AUTHOR. 

the  rash  step  of  running  into  the  vortex,  I  was  nearly 
as  little  prepared  for  the  business  of  general  life  as 
they  would  be  to  take  a  part  in  our  proceedings,  were 

they  to  leap  out  of  their  element.. The  experience  of 

something  more  than  two  years  had  awakened  me 
to  the  unpoetical  realities  around  me;  and  I  was  left< 
to  struggle  alone  amidst  the  crowd,  without  any  of 
those  inspiring  motives  left  to  cheer  me,  under  the 
delusive  influence  of  which  I  had  flung  myself  amidst 
scenes,  and  into  society,  for  which  I  was  wholly  unfit 
by  feeling,  taste,  habit,  or  bodily  constitution.  Thus, 
I  came  to  Sheffield,  with  all  my  hopes  blighted  like  the 

leaves  and  blossoms  of  a  premature  spring There 

was  yet  life,  but  it  was  perverse,  unnatural  life,  in  my 
mind ;  and  the  renown  which  I  found  to  be  unattain- 
able, at  that  time,  by  legitimate  poetry,  I  resolved 
to  secure  by  such  means  as  made  many  of  my  contem- 
poraries notorious.  I  wrote  verses  in  the  doggerel 
strain  of  Peter  Pindar,  and  prose  sometimes  in  imi- 
tation of  Fielding  and  Smollett,  and  occasionally  in  the 
strange  style  of  the  German  plays  and  romances  then  in 
vogue.  Effort  after  effort  failed.  A  Providence  of 
disappointment  shut  eVery  door  in  my  face,  by  which  I 
attempted  to  force  my  way  to  a  dishonourable  fame.  I 
was  thus  happily  saved  from  appearing  as  the  author 
of  works  which,  at  this  hou*,  I  should  have  been 
ashamed  to  acknowledge.  Disheartened  at  length 
with  iL  success,  I  gave  myself  up  to  indolence 
and  apathy,  and  lost  seven  years  of  that  part  of  my 
youth  which  ought  to  have  been  the  most  active 


MEMOIR    OF    THE    AUTHOR. 


and  profitable,  in  alternate  listlessness  and  despond- 
ency, using  no  further  exertion  in  my  office  affairs 
than  was  necessary  to  keep  up  my  credit  under  heavy 
pecuniary  obligations,  and  gradually,  though  slowly, 
to  liquidate  them." 

*  About  the  year  1803  he  began  to  write  in  his  better 
vein  of  seriousness,  and  a  lyric  which  he  published, 
under  a  nom  de  plume  in  The  Iris,  received  such  unex- 
pected applauses,  that  he  from  that  period  abjured  his 
former  eccentricities:  One  lay  after  another,  in  the 
"  reformed  spirit,"  appeared  in  the  two  following  years, 
and  he  collected  the  series  into  a  volume,  which  was 
printed  under  the  title  of  "The  Ocean,- .and  other 
Poems,"  in  1805. 

In  1798,  the  independence  of  Switzerland  had  been 
virtually  destroyed  by  France,  though  till  1803  the 
cantons  were  nominally  allowed  to  exercise  home  juris- 
diction. In  the  beginning  of  the  last  mentioned  year 
NAPOLEON  abolished  the  government,  and  declared  that 
the  cantons  must  in  future  be  the  open  frontier  of  France. 
On  the  seventeenth  of  February  this  circumstance  was 
thus  recorded  by  Mr.  MONTGOMERY,  in  The  Iris: 

"  The  heart  of  Switzerland  is  broken ;  and  Liberty 
has  been  driven  from  the  only  sanctuary  which  she  had 
found  on  the  Continent.  But  the  unconquered,  the  un- 
conquerable offspring  of  Tell,  disdaining  to  die  slaves 
in  the  land  where  they  were  born  free,  are  emigrating 
to  America.  There,  in  some  region  remote  and  ro- 
mantic, where  Solitude  has  never  seen  the  face  of  man, 
nor  Silence  been  startled  by  his  voice,  since  the  hour 


MEMOIR    OF   THE   AUTHOR. 


of  creation,  may  the  illustrious  exiles  find  another 
Switzerland,  another  country  rendered  dear  to  them 
by  the  presence  of  Liberty.  But  even  there,  amidst 
mountains  more  awful,  and  forests  more  sombre  than 
his  own,  when  the  echoes  of  the  wilderness  shall  be 
awakened  by  the  enchantment  of  that  song  which  no 
Swiss  in  a  foreign  clime  ever  hears  without  fondly 
recalling  the  land  of  his  nativity,  and  weeping  with 
affection,  how  will  the  heart  of  the  exile  be  wrung  with 
home-sickness !  and  oh !  what  a  sickness  of  heart  must 
that  be,  which  arises,  not  from  '  hope  def erred  J  but  from 
1  hope  extinguislied) — yet  remembered.'  " 

A  friend,  on  reading  this  paragraph,  suggested  to  the 
author  that  it  was  a  fine  subject  for  a  poem ;  and  with  the 
intention  of  composing  a  ballad  in  the  style  and  of  the 
length  of  the  well-known  fragmentary  cento  of  "  The 
Friar  of  Orders  Gray,"  he  immediately  commenced  what 
grew  under  his  hands  to  be  "  The  Wanderer  of  Switzer- 
land." In  the  year  after  its  publication,  when  it  had 
reached  a  third  edition,  it  was  violently  attacked  in  one 
of  those  smart  but  shallow  criticisms  which  gave. noto- 
riety to  the  earlier  numbers  of  the  Edinburgh  Review. 
It  was  still,  however,  successful ;  and  twenty-eight 
years  afterward  the  Review  confesses,  against  its  pro- 
phecy, that  our  poet  has  taken  a  place  among  the 
classics  of  the  British  nation. 

His  next  work  was  "  The  West  Indies,"  which  ap- 
peared in  1809,  and  was  designed  as  a  memorial  of 
the  then  recent  abolition  by  the  British  government  of 
the  Slave  Trade. 


MEMOIR    OF   THE   AUTHOR.  13 

It  was  followed,  in  1812,  by  "The  World  before 
the  Flood,"  in  four  cantos,  suggested  by  an  allusion  in 
*  Paradise  Lost"*  to  the  translation  of  Enoch.  This  is 
one  of  Mr..  MONTGOMERY'S  most  popular  works,  and 
has  many  passages  of  quiet,  reflective  beauty,  which 
will  make  perpetual  its  good  reputation. 

"  Greenland"  appeared  in  1819.  The  subject  was 
well  suited  to  his  powers  and  habits  of  feeling.  In  the 
region  of  eternal  snows  to  which  the  pious  Moravians 
bore  the  gospel,  Nature  was  grand,  beautiful,  and  pe- 
culiar ;  and  with  the  zeal,  the  faith,  and  the  heroism 
of  the  missionaries,  the  poet  had  a  perfect  sympathy. 
Like  "  The  World  before  the  Flood,"  it  has  passages 
of  description  and  reflection  which  would  add  to  the 
fame  of  the  greatest  of  bards,  and  in  unity  and  com- 
pleteness it  is  superior  to  any  of  our  author's  other 
works. 

• 

In  1822  Mr.  MONTGOMERY  published  his   "  Songs 

« In  other  part  the  sceptred  heralds  call 
.  To  council,  in  the  city-gates; — anon, 
Gray-headed  men  and  grave,  with  warriors  rnix'd, 
Assemble,  and  harangues  are  heard ;  but  soon 
In  factious  opposition ;  till  at  last 
Of  middle  age  one  rising,  eminent 
In  wise  deport,  spake  much  of  right  and  wrong, 
Of  justice,  of  religion,  truth  and  peace, 
And  judgment  from  above.     Him  old  and  young 
Exploded,  and  had  seized  with  violent  hands, 
Had  not  a  cloud  descending  snatch'd  him  thence, 
Unseen  amid  the  throng ;  so  violence 
Proceeded,  and  oppression,  and  sword-law, 
Through  all  the  plain,  and  refuge  none  was  found." 

VOL.  i.  2 


U  MEMOIR    OF   THE    AUTHOR. 

of  Zion."  By  many  earlier  pieces,  of  a  similar  kind, 
he  had  shown  that  he  possessed,  in  an  eminent  degree, 
all  the  qualities  of  a  lyrical  poet,  and  he  now  took  his 
place  as  a  weaver  of  sacred  song  on  the  same  elevation 
with  WATTS  and  COWPER.  His  minor  poems  will, 
hereafter,  be  most  frequently  read,  and  most  generally 
admired.  They  have  the  antique  simplicity  of  pious 
GEORGE  WITHERS,  and  a  natural,  unaffected  earnest- 
ness, joined  to  a  pure  and  poetical  diction,  which  will 
secure  to  them  a  permanent  place  in  English  litera- 
ture. 

Mr.  MONTGOMERY  has  little  dramatic  power,  and 
little  skill  in  narrative.  His  longest  and  most  elaborate 
works,  though  they  contain  beautiful  and  touching 
thoughts,  and  descriptions  distinguished  alike  for  grace, 
minuteness,  and  fidelity,  are  without  plot,  and  are  defi- 
cient in  incident.  His  little  songs  and  cabinet  pieces, 
however,  are  almost  perfect  in  their  way ;  and  nearly 
all  of  them  are  full  of  devotion  to  the  Creator,  sym- 
pathy with  suffering  humanity,  and  a  cheerful  and 
hopeful  philosophy. 

In  1827,  Mr.  MONTGOMERY  gave  to  the  world  "  The 
Pelican  Island,"  descriptive  of  the  solitary  contempla- 
tion of  nature.  It  has  the  faults  of  his  other  long 
poems,  but  is  more  graceful  and  fanciful,  and  some 
parts  of  it  were  declared  by  the  leading  reviewers  to 
be  worthy  of  MILTON.  It  is  the  last  of  his  considerable 
works. 

After  a  silence  of  nearly  a  decade,  he  published,  in 
1835,  a  "  Poet's  Portfolio,  or  Minor  Poems,"  contain- 


MEMOIR   OF   THE   AUTHOR.  IS 

ing,  as  he  states  modestly  in  his  preface,  "miscella- 
neous and  fugitive  pieces,  which,  with  many  others, 
had  been  collecting  on  his  hands  during  a  period  when 
no  recollection  of  past  success  could  embolden  him  to 
attempt  greater  things."  "  Speed  the  Prow,"  "  A  Story 
without  a  Name,"  and  other  pieces  in  this  volume, 
show  that  his  energy,  his  perception  o'f  the  beautiful, 
his  sincere  and  earnest  feelings,  and  his  fine  poetical 
expression,  had  not  passed  away  with  the  completion  of 
his  three  score  years. 

Mr.  MONTGOMERY  conducted  The  7m,  until  1825, 
and  on  his  retirement  from  the  editorial  profession, 
which  he  had  adorned  by  his  uniform  courtesy  as  well 
as  by  his  integrity  and  his  ability,  his  friends  gave  him 
a  public  dinner  at  Sheffield,  at  which  Lord  MILTON 
presided.  In  reply  to  a  complimentary  sentiment,  he 
made  a  speech,  in  which  he  reviewed  with  his  cus- 
tomary modesty  his  literary  career.  "  Success  upon 
success,  in  the  course  of  a  few  years,"  he  said, 
"  crowned  my  labours, — not  indeed  with  fame  and 
fortune,  as  these  were  lavished  on  my  greater  contem- 
poraries, in  comparison  with  whose  magnificent  pos- 
sessions on  the  British  Parnassus,  my  small  plot  of 
ground  is  no  more  than  Naboth's  vineyard  to  Ahab's 
kingdom  ;  but  it  is  my  own,  it  is  no  copyhold  ;  I  bor- 
rowed it,  I  leased  it,  from  none.  Every  foot  of  it  I 
enclose  from  the  common  myself;  and  I  can  say  that 
not  an  inch  which  I  had  once  gained  have  I  ever  lost. 
I  attribute  this  to  no  extraordinary  power  of  genius,  or 
felicity  of  talent  in  the  application  of  such  power  as  I 


W  MEMOIR    OF   THE    AUTHOR. 

may  possess.  The  estimate  of  that  I  leave  to  you  who 
hear  me,  not  in  this  moment  of  generous  enthusiasm, 
but  when  (he  evening's  enjoyment  shall  come  under  the 
morning's  reflection.  The  secret  of  my  moderate  suc- 
cess, I  consider  to  have  been  the  right  direction  of  my 
abilities  to  right  objects.  In  following  this  course  I 
have  had  to  contend  with  many  disadvantages,  as  well 
as  resolutely  to  avoid  the  most  popular  and  fashionable 
ways  to  fame.  I  followed  no  mighty  leader,  belonged 
to  no  school  of  the  poets,  pandered  to  no  impure  pas- 
sion ;  I  veiled  no  vice  in  delicate  disguise,  gratified  no 
malignant  propensity  to  personal  satire;  courted  no 
powerful  patronage  ;  I  wrote  neither  to  suit  the  man- 
ners, the  taste,  nor  the  temper  of  the  age;  but  I 
appealed  to  universal  principles,  to  imperishable  affec- 
tions, to  primary  elements  of  our  common  nature, 
found  wherever  man  is  found  in  civilized  society; 
wherever  his  mind  has  been  raised  above  barbarian 
ignorance,  or  his  passions  purified  from  brutal  selfish- 
ness. 

"  I  sang  of  war, — but  it  was  the  war  of  freedom,  in 
which  death  was  preferred  to  chains.  I  sang  the 
Abolition  of  the  Slave  Trade,  that  most  glorious  decree 
of  the  British  Legislature,  at  any  period  since  the 

Revolution I  sang,  likewise,  the  love  of  home; 

its  charities,  endearments,  and  relationship ;  all  that 
makes  *  home  sweet  home  ;'  the  recollection  of  which, 
when  the  air  of  that  name  was  just  now  played  from 
yonder  gallery,  warmed  every  heart  throughout  this 
room  into  quicker  pulsations.  I  sang  the  love  which 


MEMOIR   OF   THE   AUTHOR.  17 

man  ought  to  bear  towards  his  brother,  of  every 
kindred,  and  country*  and  clime  upon  earth.  I  sang 
the  love  of  virtue,  which  elevates  man  to  his  true 
standard  under  heaven ;  I  sang,  too,  the  love  of  God, 
who  is  love.  Nor  did  I  sing  in  vain.  I  found  readers 
and  listeners,  especially  among  the  young,  the  fair,  and 
the  devout;  and  as  youth,  beauty  and  piety  will  not 
soon  cease  out  of  the  land,  I  may  expect  to  be  remem- 
bered through  another  generation  at  least,  if  I  leave 
any  thing  behind  me  worthy  of  remembrance.  I  may 
add,  that  from  every  part  of  the  British  empire,  from 
every  quarter  of  the  world  where  our  language  is 
spoken, — from  America,  the  East  and  West  Indies,  from 
New  Holland  and  the  South  Sea  Islands  themselves, — 
I  have  received  testimonies  of  approbation  from  all 
ranks  and  degrees  of  readers,  hailing  what  I  had  done, 
and  cheering  me  forward.  I  allude  not  to  criticisms 
and  eulogiums  from  the  press,  but  to  voluntary  commu- 
nications from  unknown  correspondents,  coming  to  me 
like  voices  out  of  darkness,  and  giving  intimation  of 
that  which  the  ear  of  a  poet  is  always  hearkening  on- 
ward to  catch, — the  voice  of  posterity." 

Mr.  MONTGOMERY  is  still  living,  beloved  for  his 
piety  and  admired  for  his  genius — awaiting  calmly  and 
trustfully  his  summons  to  that  better  world  for  which 
he  has  prepared  himself  by  a  life  of  faith  and  loving 
obedience.  We  cannot  better  conclude  this  notice, 
nor  better  express  our  judgment  of  his  works,  than  by 
quoting  the  declaration  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  that 
"  there  is  something  in  all  his  poetry  which  makes 

2* 


18  MEMOIR    OF   THE   AUTHOR. 

Fiction  the  most  impressive  teacher  of  truth  and 
wisdom,  and  by  which,  while  the  intellect  is  gratified 
and  the  imagination  roused,  the  heart,  if  it  retains  any 
sensibility  to  tender  or  elevating  emotions,  cannot  fail 
to  be  made  better." 

PHI  LA  DELPHI  A,  September,  1846. 


f 


PRISON  AMUSEMENTS. 


VERSES  TO  A  ROBIN  RED-BREAST, 

WHO    VISITS   THE    WINDOW    OF    MY    PRISON    EVERY   DAY. 

WELCOME,  pretty  little  stranger ! 
Welcome  to  my  lone  retreat ! 
Here,  secure  from  every  danger, 
Hop  about,  and  chirp,  and 'eat: 
Robin  !  how  I  envy  thee, 
Happy  child  of  Liberty  ! 
Now,  though  tyrant  Winter,  howling, 

Shakes  the  world  with  tempests  round, 
Heaven  above  with  vapours  scowling, 
Frost  imprisons  all  the  ground  ; — 
Robin  !  what  are  these  to  thee  ? 
Thou  art  blest  with  liberty. 

Though  yon  fair  majestic  river* 

Mourns  in  solid  icy  chains  ; 
Though  yon  flocks  and  cattle  shiver 
On  the  desolated  plains  ; — 
Robin  !  thou  art  gay  and  free, 
Happy  in  thy  liberty. 

Hunger  never  shall  distress  thee, 

While  my  cates  one  crumb  afford ; 
Colds  nor  cramps  shall  e'er  oppress  thee ; 
Come  and  share  my  humble  board : 
Robin  !  come  and  live  with  me, 
Live — yet  still  at  liberty. 

•  The  OUM. 

19 


20  PRISON    AMUSEMENTS. 

Soon  shall  Spring  in  smiles  and  blushes 

Steal  upon  the  blooming  year ; 
Then,  amid  the  enamour'd  bushes, 
Thy  sweet  song  shall  warble  clear ; 
Then  shall  I,  too,  join'd  with  thee, 
Swell  the  Hymn  of  Liberty. 

Should  some  rough  unfeeling  Dobbin, 

In  this  iron-hearted  age, 
Seize  thee  on  thy  nest,  my  Robin ! 
And  confine  thee  in  a  cage, 

Then,  poor  prisoner!  think  of  me, 
Think — and  sigh  for  liberty. 

Ftb.  2,  1795. 


MOONLIGHT. 

GENTLE  Moon  !  a  captive  calls  ; 

Gentle  Moon  !  awake,  arise  ; 
Gild  the  prison's  sullen  walls  ; 

Gild  the  tears  that  drown  his  eyes. 

Throw  thy  veil  of  clouds  aside ; 

Let  those  smiles  that  light  the  pole 
Through  the  liquid  ether  glide, — 

Glide  into  the  mourner's  soul. 

Cheer  his  melancholy  mind  ; 

Soothe  his  sorrows,  heal  his  smart : 
Let  thine  influence,  pure,  refined, 

Cool  the  fever  of  his  heart. 

Chase  despondency  and  care, 

Fiends  thai  haunt  the  GUILT  v  breast : 
Conscious  virtue  braves  despair  ; 

Triumphs  most  when  most  oppress'd. 


MOONLIGHT. 


Now  I  feel  thy  power  benign 

Swell  my  bosom,  thrill  my  veins ; 

As  thy  beams  the  brightest  shine 
When  the  deepest  midnight  reigns. 

Say,  fair  shepherdess  of  night ! 

Who  thy  starry  flock  dost  lead 
Unto  rills  of  living  light, 

On  the  blue  ethereal  mead  ; 

At  this  moment,  dost  thou  see, 

From  thine  elevated  sphere, 
One  kind  friend  who  thinks  of  me, — 

Thinks,  and  drops  a  feeling  tear  ? 

On  a  brilliant  beam  convey 

This  soft  whisper  to  his  breast, — 

"  Wipe  that  generous  drop  away  ; 
He  for  whom  it  falls  is  blest 

"  Blest  with  Freedom  unconfined, 
Dungeons  cannot  hold  the  Soul : 

Who  can  chain  the  immortal  Mind  ? 
— None  but  He  who  spans  the  pole." 

Fancy,  too,  the  nimble  fairy, 

With  her  subtle  magic  spell, 
In  romantic  visions  airy 

Steals  the  captive  from  his  cell. 

On  her  moonlight  pinions  borne, 
Far  he  flies  from  grief  and  pain ; 

Never,  never  to  be  torn 

From  his  friends  and  home  again. 

Stay,  thou  dear  delusion  !  stay  ; 

Beauteous  bubble  !  do  not  break  ; 
— Ah  !  the  pageant  flits  away  ; 

— Who  from  such  a  dream  would  wake  ? 

March  7,  1795. 


PRISON    AMUSEMENTS. 


THE  CAPTIVE  NIGHTINGALE. 

NOCTURNAL  Silence  reigning, 

A  Nightingale  began 
In  his  cold  cage  complaining 

Of  cruel-hearted  Man : 
His  drooping  pinions  shiver'd, 

Like  wither'd  moss  so  dry ; 
His  heart  with  anguish  quiver'd, 

And  sorrow  dimm'd  his  eye. 

His  grief  in  soothing  slumbers 

No  balmy  power  could  steep  ; 
So  sweetly  flow'd  his  numbers, 

The  music  seem'd  to  weep. 
Unfeeling  Sons  of  Folly  ! 

To  you  the  Mourner  sung ; 
While  tender  melancholy 

Inspired  his  plaintive  tongue. 

"  Now  reigns  the  moon  in  splendour 

Amid  the  heaven  serene  ; 
A  thousand  stars  attend  her, 

And  glitter  round  their  queen : 
Sweet  hours  of  inspiration  ! 

When  I,  the  still  night  long, 
Was  wont  to  pour  my  passion, 

And  breathe  my  soul  in  Song. 

"  But  now,  delicious  season  ! 

In  vain  thy  charms  invite ; 
Entomb'd  in  this  dire  prison, 
I  sicken  at  the  sight. 


THE    CAPTIVE    NIGHTINGALE.  t3 

This  morn,  this  vernal  morning, 

The  happiest  bird  was  I, 
That  hail'd  the  sun  returning, 

Or  swam  the  liquid  sky. 

"  In  yonder  breezy  bowers, 

Among  the  foliage -green, 
I  spent  my  tuneful  hours 

In  solitude  serene : 
There  soft  Melodia's  beauty 

First  fired  my  ravish'd  eye  ; 
I  vow'd  eternal  duty ; 

She  look'd— half  kind,  half  shy  ! 

"My  plumes  with  ardour  trembling, 

I  flutter'd,  sigh'd,  and  sung : 
The  fair  one,  still  dissembling, 

Refused  to  trust  my  tongue  : 
A  thousand  tricks  inventing, 

A  thousand  arts  I  tried  ; 
Till  the  sweet  nymph,  relenting, 

Confess'd  herself  my  bride. 

"Deep  in  the  grove  retiring, 

"To  choose  our  secret  seat, 
We  found  an  oak  aspiring, 

Beneath  whose  mossy  feet, 
Where  the  tall  herbage  swelling, 

Had  form'd  a  green  alcove, 
We  built  our  humble  dwelling, 

And  hallow'd  it  with  love. 

"  Sweet  scene  of  vanish'd  pleasure  I 

This  day,  this  fatal  day, 
My  little  ones,  my  treasure, 

My  spouse,  were  stolen  away  ' 
I  saw  the  precious  plunder, 

All  in  a  napkin  bound  ; 


»4  PttlSON    AMUSEMENTS. 

Then  smit  with  human  thunder, 
I  flutter'd  on  the  ground  ! 

"  O  Man  !  beneath  whose  vengeance 

All  Nature  bleeding  lies  ! 
Who  charged  thine  impious  engines 

With  lightning  from  the  skies  ? 
Ah  !  is  thy  bosom  iron  ? 

Does  it  thine  heart  enchain  ? 
As  these  cold  bars  environ, 

And,  captive,  me  detain  ? 

"  Where  are  my  offspring  tender  ? 

Where  is  my  widow'd  mate  ? 
— Thou  Guardian  Moon  !  defend  her  ! 

Ye  Stars  !  avert  their  fate  ! — 
O'erwhelm'd  with  killing  anguish, 

In  iron  cage,  forlorn, 
I  see  my  poor  babes  languish  : 

I  hear  their  mother  mourn  ! 

"  O  Liberty  !  inspire  me, 

And  eagle-strength  supply ! 
Thou,  Love  almighty  !  fire  me  ! 

I'll  burst  my  prison — or  die  !" 
He  sung,  and  forward  bounded  ; 

He  broke  the  yielding  door ! 
But,  with  the  shock  confounded, 

Fell,  lifeless,  on  the  floor  ! 

Farewell,  then,  Philomela : 

Poor  martyr'd  bird  !  adieu  ! 
There's  one,  my  charming  fellow  ! 

Who  thinks,  who  feels  like  you : 
The  bard  that  pens  thy  story, 

Amidst  a  prison's  gloom, 
Sighs — not  for  wealth  nor  glory, 

— But  freedom,  or  thy  tomb  ! 

Feb.  12, 1790. 


ODE    TO    THE    EVENING    STAR.  85 


ODE  TO  THE  EVENING  STAR. 

HALL  !  resplendent  Evening  Star ! 
Brightly  beaming  from  afar  ; 
Fairest  gem  of  purest  light 
In  the  diadem  of  night. 

Now  thy  mild  and  modest  ray 
Lights  to  rest  the  weary  day ; 
While  the  lustre  of  thine  eye 
Sweetly  trembles  through  the  sky  ; 
As  the  closing  shadows  roll 
Deep  and  deeper  round  the  pole, 
Lo !  thy  kindling  legions  bright 
Steal  insensibly  to  light ; 
Till,  magnificent  and  clear, 
Shines  the  spangled  hemisphere. 

In  these  calmly  pleasing  hours, 
When  the  soul  expands  her  powers, 
And,  on  wings  of  contemplation, 
Ranges  round  the  vast  creation  ; 
When  the  mind's  immortal  eye 
Bounds,  with  rapture,  to  the  sky, 
And,  in  one  triumphant  glance, 
Comprehends  the  wide  expanse, 
Where  stars,  and  suns,  and  systems  shine, 
Faint  beams  of  MAJESTY  DIVINE  ; 
— Now,  when  visionary  sleep 
Lulls  the  world  in  slumbers  deep  ; 
When  silence,  awfully  profound, 
Breathes  solemn  inspiration  round ; 
Queen  of  Beauty  !  queen  of  stars  ! 
Smile  upon  these  frowning  bars, 
Softly  sliding  from  thy  sphere, 
Condescend  to  visit  here. 


PRISON  AMUSEMENTS. 


In  the  circle  of  this  cell, 
No  tormenting  demons  dwell ; 
Round  these  walls  in  wild  despair, 
No  agonizing  spectres  glare ; 
Here  reside  no  furies  gaunt ; 
No  tumultuous  passions  haunt ; 
Fell  revenge,  nor  treachery  base ; 
Guilt,  with  bold  unblushing  face  ; 
Pale  remorse,  within  whose  breast 
Scorpion-horrors  murder  rest ; 
Coward  malice,  hatred  dire, 
Lawless  rapine,  dark  desire  ; 
Pining  envy,  frantic  ire  ; 
Never,  never  dare  intrude 
On  this  pensive  solitude  : 
— But  a  sorely-hunted  deer 
Finds  a  sad  asylum  here  ; 
One,  whose  panting  sides  have  been 
Pierced  with  many  an  arrow  keen ; 
One,  whose  deeply-wounded  heart 
Bears  the  scars  of  many  a  dart. 
In  the  herd  he  vainly  mingled ; 
From  the  herd,  when  harshly  singled, 
Too  proud  to  fly,  he  scorn'd  to  yield ; 
Too  weak  to  fight,  he  lost  the  field ; 
Assail'd,  and  captive  led  away, 
He  fell  a  poor,  inglorious  prey. 

Deign  then,  gentle  Star  !  to  shed 
Thy  soft  lustre  round  mine  head ; 
With  cheering  radiance  gild  the  room, 
And  melt  the  melancholy  gloom. 
When  I  see  thee,  from  thy  sphere, 
Trembling  like  a  brilliant  tear, 
Shed  a  sympathizing  ray 
On  the  pale  expiring  day, 
Then  a  welcome  emanation 
Of  reviving  consolation, 


ODE    TO    THE    EVENING    STAR.  17 

Swifter  than  the  lightning's  dart, 

Glances  through  my  glowing  heart ; 

Soothes  my  sorrows,  lulls  my  woes, 

In  a  soft,  serene  repose.  • 

Like  the  undulating  motion 

Of  the  deep,  majestic  ocean, 

When  the  whispering  billows  glide 

Smooth  along  the  tranquil  tide ; 

Calmly  thus,  prepared,  resign'd, 

Swells  the  independent  mind. 

But  when  through  clouds  thy  beauteous  light 

Streams,  in  splendour,  on  the  night, 

Hope,  like  thee,  my  leading  star, 

Through  the  sullen  gloom  of  care, 

Sheds  an  animating  ray 

On  the  dark,  bewildering  way. 

Starting,  then,  with  sweet  surprise, 

Tears  of  transport  swell  mine  eyes  ; 

Wildly  through  each  throbbing  vein, 

Rapture  thrills  with  pleasing  pain ; 

All  my  fretful  fears  are  banis-h'd, 

All  my  dreams  of  anguish  vanish'd  ; 

Energy  my  soul  inspires, 

And  wakes  the  Muse's  hallow'd  fires ; 

Rich  in  melody,  my  tongue 

Warbles  forth  spontaneous  song. 

Thus  my  prison  moments  gay, 

Swiftly,  sweetly,  glide  away  ; 

Till  the  last  long  day  declining, 

O'er  yon  tower  thy  glory  shining, 

Shall  the  welcome  signal  be 

Of  to-morrow's  liberty ! 

Liberty  triumphant  borne 

On  the  rosy  wings  of  morn, 

Liberty  shall  then  return  1 

Rise  to  set  the  captive  free.: 

Rise,  O  sun  of  Liberty  ! 

Fcft.  30, 1700. 


PRISON  AMUSEMENTS. 


SOLILOQUY  OF  A  WATER-WAGTAIL 

ON   THE    WALLS    OF   YORK   CASTLE. 

ON  the  walls  that  guard  my  prison, 

Swelling  with  fantastic  pride, 
Brisk  and  merry  as  the  season, 

I  a  feather'd  coxcomb  spied  : 
When  the  little  hopping  elf 
Gaily  thus  amused  himself. 

"  Hear  your  sovereign's  proclamation, 
All  good  subjects,  young  and  old : 

I'm  the  Lord  of  the  Creation  ; 
I — a  Water- Wagtail  bold ! 

All  around,  and  all  you  see, 

All  the  world  was  made  for  ME  ! 

"Yonder  sun,  so  proudly  shining, 

Rises — when  I  leave  my  nest ; 
And,  behind  the  hills  declining, 

Sets — when  I  retire  to  rest : 
Morn  and  evening,  thus  you  see, 
Day  and  night,  were,  made  for  ME  ! 

"  Vernal  gales  to  love  invite  me  ; 

Summer  sheds  for  me  her  beams  ; 
Autumn's  jovial  scenes  delight  me  ; 

Winter  paves  with  ice  my  streams  ; 
All  the  year  is  mine,  you  see  ; 
Seasons  change,  like  moons,  for  ME  ! 

"On  the  heads  of  giant  mountains. 

Or  beneath  the.  shady  trees  ; 
By  the  banks  of  warbling  fountains, 
I  enjoy  myself  at  ease  : 


THE    WATER- WAGTAIL. 


Hills  and  valleys,  thus  you  see, 
Groves  and  rivers,  made  for  ME  ! 

"  Boundless  are  my  \a.st  dominions  ; 

I  can  hop,  or  swim,  or  fly  ; 
When  I  please,  my  towering  pinions 

Trace  my  empire  through  the  sky : 
Air  and  elements,  you  see, 
Heaven  and  earth,  were  made  for  ME  ! 

"  Birds  and  insects,  beasts  and  fishes, 

All  their  humble  distance  keep  ; 
Man,  subservient  to  my  wishes, 

Sows  the  harvest  which  I  reap  : 
Mighty  man  himself,  you  see, 
All  that  breathe,  were  made  for  ME  ! 

"  'Twas  for  my  accommodation, 

Nature  rose  when  I  was  born : 
Should  I  die — the  whole  creation 
Back  to  nothing  would  return : 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  the  world,  you  see, 
Sprung— exist,  will  fall  with  ME  !" 

Here  the  pretty  prattler,  ending, 
Spread  his  wings  to  soar  away  ; 

But  a  cruel  Hawk  descending, 
Poimced  him  up — an  helpless  prey. 

— Couldst  thou  not,  poor  Wagtail !  see, 

That  the  Hawk  was  made  for  THEE  ? 

April  15,  1796. 


PRISON  AINfUSEMENTS. 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  IMPRISONMENT. 

IN  TWO  EPISTLES  TO  A  FRIEND. 
EPISTLE   I. 

You  ask,  my  friend,  and  well  you  may, 
You  ask  me  how  I  spend  the  day ; 
I'll  tell  you,  in  unstudied  rhyme, 
How  wisely  I  befool  my  time : 
Expect  not  wit,  nor  fancy  then, 
In  this  effusion  of  my  pen  ; 
These  idle  lines — they  might  be  worse — 
Are  simple  prose,  in  simple  verse. 

Each  morning,  then,  at  five  o'clock, 
The  adamantine  doors  unlock ; 
Bolts,  bars,  and  portals,  crash  and  thunder ; 
The  gates  of  iron  burst  asunder ; 
Hinges  that  creak,  and  keys  that  jingle, 
With  clattering  chains,  in  concert  mingle  ; 
So  sweet  the  din,  your  dainty  ear, 
For  joy,  would  break  its  drum  to  hear ; 
While  my  dull  organs,  at  the  sound, 
Rest  in  tranquillity  profound : 
Fantastic  dreams  amuse  my  brain, 
And  waft  my  spirit  home  again. 
Though  captive  all  day  long  'tis  true, 
At  night  I  am  as  free  as  you ; 
Not  ramparts  high,  nor  dungeons  deep, 
Can  hold  me  when  I'm  fast  sleep. 

But  every  thing  is  good  in  season, 
I  dream  at  large — and  wake  in  prison. 
Yet  think  not,  sir,  I  b'e  too  late, 
I  rise  as  early  even  as  eight : 
Ten  hours  of  drowsiness  are  plenty, 


THE   PLEASURES    OF   IMPRISONMENT. 


For  any  man,  in  four-and-twenty. 
You  smile  —  and  yet  'tis  nobly  done, 
I'm  but  five  hours  behind  the  sun  ! 

When  dress'd,  I  to  the  yard  repair, 
And  breakfast  on  the  pure,  fresh  air  : 
But  though  this  choice  Castalian  cheer 
Keeps  both  the  head  and  stomach  clear, 
For  reasons  strong  enough  with  me, 
I  mend  the  meal  with  toast  and  tea. 
Now  air  and  fame,  as  poets  sing, 
Are  both  the  same,  the  self-same  thing  : 
Yet  bards  are  not  cameleons  quite, 
And  heavenly  food  is  very  light  ; 
Whoever  dined  or  supp'd  on  fame, 
And  went  to  bed  upon  a  name  ? 

Breakfast  despatch'd,  I  sometimes  read, 
To  clear  the  vapours  from  my  head  ; 
For  books  are  magic  charms,  I  ween, 
Both  for  the  crotchets  and  the  spleen. 
When  genius,  wisdom,  wit  abound, 
Where  sound  is  sense,  and  sense  is  sound  ; 
When  art  and  nature  both  combine, 
And  live,  and  breathe,  in  every  line  ; 
The  reader  glows  along  the  page 
With  all  the  author's  native  rage  ! 
But  books  there  are  with  nothing  fraught,— 
Ten  thousand  words,  and  ne'er  a  thought  ; 
Where  periods  without  period  crawl, 
Like  caterpillars  on  a  wall, 
That  fall  to  climb,  and  climb  to  fall  ; 
While  still  their  efforts  only  tend 
To  keep  them  from  their  journey's  end. 
The  readers  yawn  with  pure  vexation, 
And  nod  —  but  not  with  approbation. 
In  such  a  fog  of  dulness  lost, 
Poor  patience  must  give  up  the  ghost  ; 
Not  Argus'  eyes  awake  could  keep, 
Even  Death  might  read  himself  to  sleep. 


PRISON    AMUSEMENTS. 


At  half-past  ten,  or  thereabout, 
My  eyes  are  all  upon  the  scout, 
To  see  the  lounging  post-boy  come, 
With  letters  or  with  news  from  home. 
Believe  it,  on  a  captive's  word, 
Although  the  doctrine  seem  absurd, 
The  paper-messengers  of  friends 
For  absence  almost  make  amends  : 
But  if  you  think  I  jest  or  lie, 
Come  to  York  Castle,  sir,  and  try. 

Sometimes  to  fairy  land  I  rove  : 
Those  iron  rails  become  a  grove  ; 
These  stately  buildings  fall  away 
To  moss-grown  cottages  of  clay  ; 
Debtors  are  changed  to  jolly  swains, 
Who  pipe  and  whistle  on  the  plains ; 
Yon  felons  grim,  with  fetters  bound, 
Are  satyrs  wild,  with  garlands  crown'd; 
Their  clanking  chains  are  wreaths  of  flowers  ; 
Their  horrid  cells  ambrosial  bowers  : 
The  oaths,  expiring  on  their  tongues, 
Are  metamorphosed  into  songs  ; 
While  wretched  female  prisoners,  lo  ! 
Are  Dian's  nymphs  of  virgin  snow. 
Those  hideous  walls  with  verdure  shoot ; 
These  pillars  bend  with  blushing  fruit ; 
That  dunghill  swells  into  a  mountain, 
The  pump  becomes  a  purling  fountain  ; 
The  noisome  smoke  of  yonder  mills, 
The  circling  air  with  fragrance  fills ; 
The  horse-pond  spreads  into  a  lake, 
And  swans  of  ducks  and  geese  I  make ; 
Sparrows  are  changed  to  turtle-doves, 
That  bill  and  coo  their  pretty  loves  ; 
Wagtails,  turn'd  thrushes,  charm  the  vales, 
And  tomtits  sing  like  nightingales. 
No  more  the  wind  through  key-holes  whistles,       - 
But  sighs  on  beds  of  pinks  and  thistles ; 


THE    PLEASURES    OF   IMPRISONMENT. 


The  rattling  rain  that  beats  without, 

And  gurgles  dcnvn  the  leaden  spout, 

In  light,  delicious  dew  distils, 

And  melts  away  in  amber  rills  ; 

Elysium  rises  on  the  green, 

And  health  and  beauty  crown  the  scene. 
Then  by  the  enchantress  Fancy  led, 

On  violet  banks  I  lay  my  head  ; 

Legions  of  radiant  forms  arise, 

In  fair  array,  before  mine  eyes ; 

Poetic  visions  gild  my  brain, 

And  melt  in  liquid  air  again  ; 

As  in  a  magic-lantern  clear, 

Fantastic  images  appear, 

That  beaming  from  the  spectred  glass, 

In  beautiful  succession  pass, 

Yet  steal  the  lustre  of  their  light 

From  the  deep  shadow  of  the  night : 

Thus,  in  the  darkness  of  my  head, 

Ten  thousand  shining  things  are  bred, 

That  borrow  splendour  from  the  gloom, 

As  glow-worms  twinkle  in  a  tomb. 

But  lest  these  glories  should  confound  me, 

Kind  Dulness  draws  her  curtain  round  me ; 

The  visions  vanish  in  a  trice, 

And  I  awake  as  cold  as  ice : 

Nothing  remains  of  all  the  vapour, 

Save — what  I  send  you — ink  and  paper. 

Thus  flow  my  morning  hours  along, 
Smooth  as  the  numbers  of  my  song: 
Yet  let  me  wander  as  I  will, 
I  feel  I  am  a  prisoner  still. 
Thus  Robin,  with  the  blushing  breast, 
Is  ravish'd  from  his  little  nest 
By  barbarous  boys  who  bind  his  leg, 
To  make  him  flutter  round  a  peg : 
See  the  glad  captive  spreads  his  wings. 
Mounts,  in  a  moment,  mounts  and  sings. 


34  PRISON    AMUSEMENTS. 




When  suddenly  the  cruel  chain 
Twitches  him  back  to  earth  again. 
— The  clock  strikes  one — I  can't  delay, 
For  dinner  comes  but  once  a  day  : 
At  present,  worthy  friend,  farewell ; 
But  by  to-morrow's  post  I'll  tell, 
How,  during  these  half-dozen  moons, 
I  cheat  the  lazy  afternoons. 

June  13,  1796. 


EPISTLE  H. 

IN  this  sweet  place,  where  freedom  reigns, 
Secured  by  bolts,  and  snug  in  chains ; 
Where  innocence  and  guilt  together 
Roost  like  two  turtles  of  a  feather ; 
Where  debtors  safe  at  anchor  lie 
From  saucy  duns  and  bailiffs  sly ; 
Where  highwaymen  and  robbers  stout 
Would,  rather  than  break  in,  break  out : 
Where  all's  so  guarded  and  recluse, 
That  none  his  liberty  can  lose  ; 
Here  each  may,  as  his  means  afford, 
Dine  like  a  pauper  or  a  lord, 
And  those  who  can't  the  cost  defray, 
May  live  to  dine  another  day. 

Now  let  us  ramble  o'er  the  green, 
To  see  and  hear  what's  heard  and  seen  , 
To  breathe  the  air,  enjoy  the  light, 
And  hail  yon  sun,  who  shines  as  bright 
Upon  the  dungeon  and  the  gallows 
As  on  York  Minster  or  Kew  Palace. 
And  here  let  us  the  scene  review  :— 
That's  the  old  castle,  this  the  new ; 
Yonder  the  felons  walk,  and  there 
The  lady-prisoners  take  the  air ; 


THE   PLEASURES    OF   IMPRISONMENT.  39 

Behind  are  solitary  cells, 

Where  hermits  live  like  snails  in  shells  ; 

There  stands  the  chapel  for  good  people  ; 

That  black  balcony  is  the  steeple  ; 

How  gaily  spins  the  weathercock  ! 

How  proudly  shines  the  crazy  clock ! 

A  clock,  whose  wheels  eccentric  run, 

More  like  my  head  than  like  the  sun : 

And  yet  it  shows  us,  right  or  wrong, 

The  days  are  only  twelve  hours  long ; 

Though  captives  often  reckon  here 

Each  day  a  month,  each  month  a  year. 

There  honest  William  stands  in  state, 

The  porter,  at  the  horrid  gate  ; 

Yet  no  ill-natured  soul  is  he, 

Entrance  to  all  the  world  is  free ; 

One  thing,  indeed,  is  rather  hard, 

Egress  is  frequently  debarr'd  : 

Of  all  the  joys  within  that  reign, 

There's  none  like — getting  out  again  ! 

Across  the  green,  behold  the  court, 

Where  jargon  reigns  and  wigs  resort ! 

Where  bloody  tongues  fight  bloodless  battles, 

For  life  and  death,  for  straws  and  rattles ; 

Where  juries  yawn  their  patience  out, 

And  judges  dream  in  spite  of  gout. 

There,  on  the  outside  of  the  door, 

(As  sang  a  wicked  wag  of  yore,) 

Stands  Mother  Justice,  tall  and  thin, 

Who  never  yet  hath  ventured  in. 

The  cause,  my  friend,  may  soon  be  shown, 

The  lady  was  a  stepping-stone, 

Till — though  the  metamorphose  odd  is — 

A  chisi-1  made  the  block  a  goddess : 

— "  Odd  !"  did  I  say  ? — I'm  wrong  this  time ; 

But  I  was  hamper'd  for  a  rhyme : 

Justice  at — I  could  tell  you  where — 

Is  just  jhe  same  as  justice  there. 


PRISON  AMUSEMENTS. 


But  lo  !  my  frisking  dog  attends, 
The  kindest  of  four-footed  friends  ; 
Brim-full  of  giddiness  and  mirth, 
He  is  the  prettiest  fool  on  earth. 
The  rogue  is  twice  a  squirrel's  size, 
With  short  snub  nose  and  big  black  eyes; 
A  cloud  of  brown  adorns  his  tail, 
That  curls  and  serves  him  for  a  sail; 
The  same  deep  auburn  dyes  his  ears, 
That  never  were  abridged  by  shears  : 
While  white  around,  as  Lapland  snows, 
His  hair,  in  soft  profusion,  flows ; 
Waves  on  his  breast,  and  plumes  his  feet 
With  glossy  fringe,  like  feathers  fleet. 
A  thousand  antic  tricks  he  plays, 
And  looks  at  one  a  thousand  ways ; 
His  wit,  if  he  has  any,  lies 
Somewhere  between  his  tail  and  eyes ; 
Sooner  the  light  those  eyes  will  fail, 
Than  Billy  cease  to  wag  that  tail. 

And  yet  the  fellow  ne'er  is  safe 
From  the  tremendous  beak  of  Ralph ; 
A  raven  grim,  in  black  and  blue, 
As  arch  a  knave  as  e'er  you  knew ; 
Who  hops  about  with  broken  pinions, 
And  thinks  these  walls  his  own  dominions! 
This  wag  a  mortal  foe  to  Bill  is, 
They  fight  like  Hector  and  Achilles ; 
Bold  Billy  runs  with  all  his  might, 
And  conquers,  Parthian-like,  in  flight ; 
While  Ralph  his  own  importance  feels, 
And  wages  endless  war  with  heels  : 
Horses  and  dogs,  and  geese  and  deer, 
He  slily  pinches  in  the  rear ; 
They  start  surprised  with  sudden  pain, 
While  honest  Ralph  sheers  off  again. 

A  melancholy  stag  appears, 
With  rueful  look  and  flagging  ears ;  , 


THE   PLEASURES    OF   IMPRISONMENT. 


A  feeble,  lean,  consumptive  elf, 

The  very  picture  of  myself! 

My  ghost-like  form,  and  new-moon  phiz, 

Are  just  the  counterparts  of  his  : 

Blasted  like  me  by  fortune's  frown  ; 

Like  me,  TWICE  hunted,  TWICE  run  down ! 

Like  me  pursued,  almost  to  death, 

He's  come  to  jail,  to  save  his  breath  ! 

Still,  on  his  painful  limbs,  are  seen 

The  scars  where  worrying  dogs  have  been ; 

Still,  on  his  wo-imprinted  face, 

I  weep  a  broken  heart  to  trace. 

Daily  the  mournful  wretch  I  feed 

With  crumbs  of  comfort  and  of  bread  ; 

But  man,  false  man  !  so  well  he  knows, 

He  deems  the  species  all  his  foes : 

In  vain  I  smile  to  soothe  his  fear, 

He  will  not,  dare  not,  come  too  near ; 

He  lingers — looks — and  fain  he  would — 

Then  strains  his  neck  to  reach  the  food. 

Oft  as  his  plaintive  looks  I  see, 

A  brother's  bowels  yearn  in  me. 

What  rocks  and  tempests  yet  await 

Both  him  and  me,  we  leave  to  fate : 

We  know,  by  past  experience  taught, 

That  innocence  availeth  naught : 

I  feel,  and  'tis  my  proudest  boast, 

That  conscience  is  itself  an  host: 

While  this  inspires  my  swelling  breast, 

Let  all  forsake  me — I'm  at  rest ; 

Ten  thousand  deaths,  in  every  nerve, 

I'd  rather  SUFFER  than  DESERVE. 

But  yonder  comes  the  victim's  wife, 
A  dappled  doe,  all  fire  and  life : 
She  trips  along  with  gallant  pace, 
Her  limbs  alert,  her  motion  grace  : 
Soft  as  the  moonlight  fairies  bound, 
Her  footsteps  scarcely  kiss  the  ground ; 


TOL.  1. 


S8  PRISON  AMUSEMENTS. 

Gently  she  lifts  her  fair  brown  head, 
And  licks  my  hand,  and  begs  for  bread  : 
I  pat  her  forehead,  stroke  her  neck, 
She  starts  and  gives  a  timid  squeak  ; 
Then,  while  her  eye  with  brilliance  burns, 
The  fawning  animal  returns  ; 
Pricks  her  bob-tail,  and  waves  her  ears, 
And  happier  than  a  queen  appears  : 
—Poor  beast !  from  fell  ambition  free, 
And  all  the  woes  of  LIBERTY  ; 
Born  in  a  jail,  a  prisoner  bred, 
No  dreams  of  hunting  rack  thine  head ; 
Ah  !  mayst  thou  never  pass  these  bounds 
To  see  the  world — and  feel  the  hounds  ! 
Still  all  her  beauty,  all  her  art, 
Have  fail'd  to  win  her  husband's  heart : 
Her  lambent  eyes,  and  lovely  chest ; 
Her  swan-white  neck,  and  ermine  breast ; 
Her  taper  legs,  and  spotty  hide, 
So  softly,  delicately  pied, 
In  vain  their  fond  allurements  spread,— 
To  love  and  joy  her  spouse  is  dead. 
But  lo  !  the  evening  shadows  fall 
Broader  and  browner  from  the  wall ; 
A  warning  voice,  like  curfew  bell, 
Commands  each  captive  to  his  cell ; 
My  faithful  dog  and  I  retire, 
To  play  and  chatter  by  the  fire : 
Soon  comes  a  turnkey  with  "  Good  night,  sir !" 
And  bolts  the  door  with  all  his  might,  sir: 
Then  leisurely  to  bed  I  creep, 
And  sometimes  wake — and  sometimes  sleep. 
These  are  the  joys  that  reign  in  prison, 
And  if  I'm  happy  'tis  with  reason : 
Yet  still  this  prospect  o'er  the  rest 
Makes  every  blessing  doubly  blest ; 
That  soon  these  pleasures  will  be  vanish 'd, 
And  I,  from  all  these  comforts,  banish'd  1 

Junt  14,  1796. 


THE    BRAMIN. 


THE  BRAMIN. 

EXTRACT   FROM    CANTO   I. 

ONCE,  on  the  mountain's  balmy  lap  reclined, 

The  sage  unlock'd  the  treasures  of  his  mind  ; 

Pure  from  his  lips  sublime  instruction  came, 

As  the  blest  altar  breathes  celestial  flame  ; 

A  band  of  youths  and  virgins  round  him  press'd, 

Whom  thus  the  prophet  and  the  sage  address'd : — 

"  Through  the  wide  universe's  boundless  range, 
All  that  exist  decay,  revive,  and  change  : 
No  atom  torpid  or  inactive  lies  ; 
A  being,  once  created,  never  dies. 
The  waning  moon,  when  quench'd  in  shades  of  night, 
Renews  her  youth  with  all  the  charms  of  light ; 
The  flowery  beauties  of  the  blooming  year 
Shrink  from  the  shivering  blast,  and  disappear ; 
Yet,  warm'd  with  quickening  showers  of  genial  rain, 
Spring  from  their  graves,  and  purple  all  the  plain. 
As  day  the  night,  and  night  succeeds  the  day, 
So  death  re-animates,  so  lives  decay : 
Like  billows  on  the  undulating  main, 
The  swelling  fall,  the  falling  swell  again  ; 
Thus  on  the  tide  of  time,  inconstant,  roll 
The  dying  body  and  the  living  soul. 
In  every  animal,  inspired  with  breath, 
The  flowers  of  life  produce  the  seeds  of  death  ;-— 
The  seeds  of  death,  though  scatter'd  in  the  tomb, 
Spring  with  new  vigour,  vegetate  and  bloom. 

"  When  wasted  down  to  dust  the  creature  dies, 
Quick,  from  its  cell,  the  enfranchised  spirit  flies ; 
Fills,  with  fresh  energy,  another  form, 
And  towers  an  elephant,  or  glides  a  worm ; 
The  uwful  lion's  royal  shape  assumes ; 
The  fox's  subtlety,  or  peacock's  plumes ; 


PRISON    AMUSEMENTS. 


Swims,  like  an  eagle,  in  the  eye  of  noon, 

Or  wails,  a  screech-owl,  to  the  deaf,  cold  moon  ; 

Haunts  the  dread  brakes  where  serpents  hiss  and  glare, 

Or  hums,  a  glittering  insect  in  the  air. 

The  illustrious  souls  of  great  and  virtuous  men, 

In  noble  animals  revive  again  : 

But  base  and  vicious  spirits  wind  their  way, 

In  scorpions,  vultures,  sharks,  and  beasts  of  prey. 

The  fair,  the  gay,  the  witty,  and  the  brave, 

The  fool,  the  coward,  courtier,  tyrant,  slave ; 

Each,  in  congenial  animals,  shall  find 

A  home  and  kindred  for  his  wandering  mind. 

"  Even  the  cold  body,  when  enshrined  in  earth, 
Rises  again  in  vegetable  -birth  : 
From  the  vile  ashes  of  the  bad  proceeds 
A  baneful  harvest  of  pernicious  weeds  ; 
The  relics  of  the  good,  awaked  by  showers, 
Peep  from  the  lap  of  death,  and  live  in  flowers ; 
Sweet  modest  flowers,  that  blush  along  the  vale, 
Whose  fragrant  lips  embalm  the  passing  gale." 


EXTRACT   FROM    CANTO    II. 

»**»*» 

"  Now,  mark  the  words  these  dying  lips  impart, 
And  wear  this  grand  memorial  round  your  heart : 
All  that  inhabit  ocean,  air,  or  earth, 
From  ONE  ETKRNAL  SIRE  derive  their  birth. 
The  Hand  that  built  the  palace  of  the  sky 
Form'd  the  light  wings  that  decorate  a  fly : 
The  Power  that  Avheels  the  circling  planets  round 
Rears  every  infant  floweret  on  the  ground ; 
That  Bounty  which  the  mightiest  beings  share 
Feeds  the  least  gnat  that  gilds  the  evening  air. 
Thus  all  the  wild  inhabitants  of  woods, 
Children  of  air,  and  tenants  of  the  floods ; 
All,  all  are  equal,  independent,  free, 
And  all  the  heirs  of  immortality  ! 


_J 


THE    BRAMIN. 


For  all  that  live  and  breathe  have  once  bsen  men, 
And,  in  succession,  will  be  such  again  : 
Even  you,  in  turn,  that  human  shape  must  change, 
And  through  ten  thousand  forms  of  being  range. 

"  Ah  !  then,  refrain  your  brethren's  blood  to  spill, 
And,  till  you  can  create,  forbear  to  kill ! 
Oft  as  a  guiltless  fellow-creature  dies, 
The  blood  of  innocence  for  vengeance  cries : 
Even  grim,  rapacious  savages  of  prey, 
Presume  not,  save  in  self-defence, -to  slay  ; 
What,  though  to  heaven  their  forfeit  lives  they  owe, 
Hath  heaven  commission'd  thee  to  deal  the  blow? 
Crush  not  the  feeble,  inoffensive  worm, 
Thy  sister's  spirit  wears  that-humble  form  ! 
Why  should  thy  cruel  arrow  smite  yon  bird  ? 
In  him  thy  brother's  plaintive  song  is  heard. 
When  the  poor,  harmless  kid,  all  trembling,  lies, 
And  begs  his  little  life  with  infant  cries. 
Think,  ere  you  take  the  throbbing  victim's  breath, 
You  doom  a  dear,  an  only  child,  to  death. 
When  at  the  ring  the  beauteous  heifer  stands, 
— Stay,  monster  !  stay  those  parricidal  hands ; 
Canst  thou  not,  in  that  mild,  dejected  face, 
The  sacred  features  of  thy  mother  trace  ? 
When  to  the  stake  the  generous  bull  you  lead, 
Tremble, — ah,  tremble, — lest  your  father  bleed. 
Let  not  your  anger  on  your  dog  descend, 
The  faithful  animal  was  once  your  friend  ; 
The  friend  whose  courage  snatch'd  you  from  the  grave, 
When  wrapp'd  in  flames  or  sinking  in  the  wave. 
— Rash,  impious  youth !  renounce  that  horrid  knife, 
Spare  the  sweet  antelope ! — ah,  spare — thy  wife  1 
In  the  meek  victim's  tear-illumined  eyes, 
See  the  soft  image  of  thy  consort  rise  ; 
Such  as  she  is,  when  by  romantic  streams 
Her  spirit  greets  thee  in  delightful  dreams ; 
Not  as  she  look'd,  when  blighted  in  her  bloom  ; 
Not  as  she  lies,  all  pale  in  yonder  tomb ; 


43  PRISON    AMUSEMENTS. 

That  mournful  tomb,  where  all  thy  joys  repose  ! 
That  hallow'd  tomb,  where  all  thy  griefs  shall  close. 

"  While  yet  I  sing,  the  weary  king  of  light 
Resigns  his  sceptre  to  the  queen  of  night ; 
Unnumber'd  orbs  of  living  fire  appear, 
And  roll  in  glittering  grandeur  o'er  the  sphere. 
Perhaps  the  soul,  released  from  earthly  ties, 
A  thousand  ages  hence  may  mount  the  skies  ; 
Through  suns  and  planets,  stars,  and  systems  range, 
In  each  new  forms  assume,  relinquish,  change  ; 
From  age  to  age,  from  world  to  world  aspire, 
And  climb  the  scale  of  being  higher  and  higher: 
But  who  these  awful  mysteries  dare  explore  ? 
Pause,  O  my  soul !  and  tremble  and  adore. 

"  There  is  a  Power,  all  other  powers  above, 
Whose  name  is  Goodness,  and  His  nature  Love ; 
Who  call'd  the  infant  universe  to  light, 
From  central  nothing  and  circumfluent  night. 
On  His  great  providence  all  worlds  depend, 
As  trembling  atoms  to  their  centre  tend  ; 
In  Nature's  face  His  glory  shines  confess' d, 
She  wears  His  sacred  image  on  her  breast ; 
His  spirit  breathes  in  every  living  soul ; 
His  bounty  feeds,  his  presence  fills  the  whole  ; 
Though  seen,  invisible — though  felt,  unknown ; 
All  that  exist,  exist  in  Him  alone. 
But  who  the  wonders  of  His  hand  can  trace 
Through  the  dread  ocean  of  unfathom'd  space  ? 
When  from  the  shore  we  lift  our  fainting  eyes, 
Where  boundless  scenes  of  Godlike  grandeur  rise  ; 
Like  sparkling  atoms  in  the  noontide  rays, 
Worlds,  stars,  and  suns,  and  universes  blaze. 
Yet  these  transcendent  monuments  that  shine, 
Eternal  miracles  of  skill  divine, 
These,  and  ten  thousand  more,  are  only  still 
The  shadow  of  his  power,  the  transcript  of  his  will." 

Ayrii  14,  1796. 


A    TALE    TOO    TRUE. 


A  TALE  TOO  TRUE: 

Being  a  supplement  to  The  Prison  Amusements,  originally  published  under  the 
name  of  PAUL  POSITIVE,  in  which  many  of  the  Author's  Juvenile  Verses  were 
composed.  The  following  were  written  at  Scarboroiieh,  whither  he  had  re- 
tired, on  being  liberated  from  York  Castle,  for  the  recovery  of  his  health,  be- 
fore he  returned  home.  They  are  dated  July  23,  1790,  and  were  literally  a 
summer-day's  labour. 

ONE  beautiful  morning,  when  Paul  was  a  child, 

And  went  with  a  satchel  to  school, 
The  rogue  play'd  the  truant,  which  shows  he  was  wild, 

And  though  little,  a  very  great  fool. 

He  came  to  a  cottage  that  grew  on  the  moor, 

No  mushroom  was  ever  so  strong  ; 
'Twas  snug  as  a  mouse-trap ;  and  close  by  the  door 

\  river  ran  rippling  along. 

The  cot  was  embosom'd  in  rook-nested  trees, 

The  chestnut,  the  elm,  and  the  oak ; 
Geese  gabbled  in  concert  with  bagpiping  bees. 

While  softly  ascended  the  smoke. 

At  the  door  sat  a  damsel,  a  sweet  little  girl, 

Array'd  in  a  petticoat  green ; 
Her  skin  was  lovely  as  mother  of  pearl, 

And  milder  than  moonlight  her  mien. 

She  sang  as  she  knotted  a  garland  of  flowers, 

Right  mellowly  warbled  her  tongue  ; 
Such  strains  in  Elysium's  romantical  bowers, 

To  soothe  the  departed  are  sung. 

Paul  stood  like  a  gander,  he  stood  like  himself, 
Eyes,  ears,  nose,  and  mouth  open'd  wide ; 

When  suddenly  rising,  the  pretty  young  elf 
The  wonder-struck  wanderer  spied. 


44  PRISON  AMUSEMENTS. 

She  started  and  trembled,  she  blush'd  and  she  smiled, 

Then  dropping  a  courtesy  she  said, 
"  Pray,  what  brought  you  hither,  my  dear  little  child  ? 

Did  your  legs  run  away  with  your  head  ?" 

"  Yes  !  yes  !"  stammer'd  Paul,  and  he  made  a  fine  bow, 

At  least  'twas  the  finest  he  could, 
Though  the  lofty-bred  belles  of  St.  James's,  I  trow, 

Would  have  call'd  it  a  bow  made  of  wood. 

No  matter,  the  dimple-cheek'd  damsel  was  pleased, 

And  modestly  gave  him  her  wrist ; 
Paul  took  the  fine  present,  and  tenderly  squeezed, 

As  if  'twere  a  wasp  in  his  fist. 

Then  into  the  cottage  she  led  the  young  fool, 

Who  stood  all  aghast  to  behold 
The  lass's  grim  mother,  who  managed  a  school, 

A  beldame,  a  witch,  and  a  scold. 

Her  eyes  were  as  red  as  two  lobsters  when  boil'd, 

Her  complexion  the  colour  of  straw  ; 
Though  she  grinn'd  like  a  death's  head  whenever  she 
smiled, 

She  show'd  not  a  tooth  in  her  jaw. 

Her  body  was  shrivell'd  and  dried  like  a  kecks, 
Her  arms  were  all  veins,  bone,  and  skin ; 

And  then  she'd  a  beard,  sir,  in  spite  of  her  sex, 
I  don't  know  how  long,  on  her  chin. 

Her  dress  was  as  mournful  as  mourning  could  be, 
Black  sackcloth,  bleach'd  white  with  her  tears ; 

For  a  widow,  fair  ladies  !  a  widow  was  she, 
Most  dismally  stricken  in  years. 

The  charms  of  her  youth,  if  she  ever  had  any, 

Were  all  under  total  eclipse  ; 
While  the  charms  of  her  daughter,  who  truly  had  many, 

Were  only  unfolding  their  lips. 


A  TALK  TOO  TRUE.  49 

Thus,  far  in  a  wilderness,  bleak  and  forlorn, 

When  winter  deflowers  the  year, 
All  hoary  and  horrid,  I've  seen  an  old  thorn, 

In  icicle  trappings  appear : 

While  a  sweet-smiling  snow-drop  enamels  its  root, 
Like  the  morning-star  gladdening  the  sky; 

Or  an  elegant  crocus  peeps  out  at  its  foot, 
As  blue  as  Miss  Who-ye-will's  eye. 

'Dear  mother!"  the  damsel  exclaim' d  with  a  sigh, 
"  I  have  brought  you  a  poor  little  wretch, 

Your  victim  and  mine," — but  a  tear  from  her  eye 
Wash'd  away  all  the  rest  of  her  speech. 

The  beldame  then  mounting  her  spectacles  on, 
Like  an  arch  o'er  the  bridge  of  her  nose, 

Examined  the  captive,  and  crying  "  Well  done  !" 
Bade  him  welcome  with  twenty  dry  blows. 

Paul  fell  down  astounded,  and  only  not  dead, 

For  death  was  not  quite  within  call; 
Recovering  he  found  himself  in  a  warm  bed, 

And  in  a  warm  fever  and  all. 

Reclined  on  her  elbow,  to  anguish  a  prey, 

The  maiden  in  lovely  distress 
Sate  weeping  her  soul  from  her  eyelids  away ; 

How  could  the  fair  mourner  do  less  ? 

But  when  she  perceived  him  reviving  againf 

She  caroll'd  a  sonnet  so  sweet, 
The  captive,  transported,  forgot  all  his  pain, 

And  presently  fell  at  her  feet. 

All  rapture  and  fondness,  all  folly  and  joy, 
•'  Dear  damsel !  for  your  sake,"  he  cried, 

"  I'll  be  your  cross  mother's  own  dutiful  boy. 
And  you  shall  one  day  be  my  bride  " 


PRISON  AMUSEMENTS. 


"  For  shame !"  quoth  the  nymph,  though  she  look'd  the 

reverse, 

"  Such  nonsense  I  cannot  approve  ; 
Too  young  we're  to  wed." — Paul  said,  "  So  much  the 

worse ; 
But  are  we  too  young  then  to  love  ?" 

The  lady  replied  in  a  language  that  speaks 

Not  unto  the  ear  but  the  eye ; 
The  language  that  blushes  through  eloquent  cheeks, 

When  modesty  looks  very  sly. 

Our  true  lovers  lived, — for  the  fable  saith  true, — 

As  merry  as  larks  in  their  nest, 
Who  are  learning  to  sing  while  the  hawk  is  in  view, 

— The  ignorant  always  are  blest. 

Through  valleys  and  meadows  they  wander'd  by  day, 

And  warbled  and  whistled  along ; 
So  liquidly  glided  their  moments  away, 

Their  life  was  a  galloping  song. 

When  they  twitter'd  their  notes  from  the  top  of  a  hill. 

If  November  did  not  look  like  May, 
If  rocks  did  not  caper,  nor  rivers  stand  still, 

The  asses  at  least  did  not  bray. 

If  the  trees  did  not  leap  nor  the  mountains  advance, 
They  were  deafer  than  bailiffs,  'tis  clear; 

If  sun,  moon,  and  stars  did  not  lead  up  a  dance, 
They  wanted  a  musical  ear. 

But  sometimes  the  beldame,  cross,  crazy,  and  old, 
Would  thunder,  and  threaten,  and  swear; 

Expose  them  to  tempests,  to  heat,  and  to  cold, 
To  danger,  fatigue,  and  despair. 

For  wisdom,  she  argued,  could  only  be  taught 
By  bitter  exper;:  nee  to  fools, 


A    TALE    TOO    TRUE.  «T 


And  she  acted  as  every  good  school-mistress  ought, 
Quite  up  to  the  beard  of  her  rules. 

Her  school,  by-the-bye,  was  the  noblest  on  earth 

For  mortals  to  study  themselves  ; 
There  many  great  folks,  who  were  folios  by  birth, 

She  cut  down  to  pitiful  twelves. 

Her  rod  like  death's  scythe,  in  her  levelling  hand, 
Bow'd  down  rich,  poor,  wicked,  and  just ; 

Kings,  queens,  popes,  and  heroes,  the  touch  of  her 

wand 
Could  crumble  to  primitive  dust. 

At  length  in  due  season,  the  planets  that  reign, 

By  chance  or  some  similar  art, 
Commanded  the  damsel  to  honour  her  swain 

With  her  hand  as  the  key  to  her  heart. 

The  grisly  old  mother  then  blest  the  fond  pair ; 

— "  While  you  live,  O  my  darlings  !"  she  cried, 
"  My  favours  unask'd  for  you  always  shall  share, 

And  cleave  like  two  ribs  to  my  side. 

"  Poor  Paul  is  a  blockhead  in  marrow  and  bone, 
Whom  naught  but  my  rod  can  make  wise ; 

The  fellow  will  only,  when  all's  said  and  done, 
Be  just  fit  to  live  when  he  dies." 

The  witch  was  a  prophetess,  all  must  allow, 
And  Paul  a  strange  moon-stricken  youth, 

Who  somewhere  had  pick'd  up,  I'll  not  tell  you  how, 
A  sad  knack  of  tolling  the  truth. 

His  sorrows  and  sufferings  his  consort  may  paint, 

In  colours  of  water  and  fire  ; 
She  saw  him  in  prison,  desponding  and  faint, 

She  saw  him  in  act  to  expire. 


PRISON    AMUSEMENTS. 


Then  melting1  her  voice  to  the  lenderest  tone, 

The  lovely  enthusiast  began 
To  sing  in  sweet  numbers  the  comforts  unknown, 

That  solace  the  soul  of  the  man, 

Who,  hated,  forsaken,  tormented,  opprest, 

And  wrestling  with  anguish  severe, 
Can  turn  his  eye  inward,  and  view  in  his  breast 

A  conscience  unclouded  and  clear. 

The  captive  look'd  up  with  a  languishing  eye, 

Half  quench'd  in  a  tremulous  tear; 
He  saw  the  meek  Angel  of  Hope  standing  by, 

He  heard  her  solicit  his  ear. 

Her  strain  then  exalting,  and  swelling  her  lyre, 
The  triumphs  of  patience  she  sung, 

While  passions  of  music  and  language  of  fire 
Flow'd  full  and  sublime  from  her  tongue. 

At  length  the  gay  morning  of  liberty  shone, 
At  length  the  dread  portals  flew  wide  ; 

Then  hailing  each  other  with  transports  unknown, 
The  captive  escaped  with  his  bride. 

Behold  in  a  fable  the  Poet's  own  life, 
From  which  this  lean  moral  we  draw, 

— The  MUSE  is  Paul  Positive's  nightingale-wife, 
MISFORTUNE  his  mother-in-law. 


THE 

WANDERER  OF  SWITZERLAND 

A  POEM,   IN    SIX   PARTS. 


i.  £. 


THB  historical  facts  alluded  to  in  the  following  narrative  may  be  found  in  the 
Supplement  to  Coxe's  Travels  in  Switzerland,  Plunta's  History  of  the  Helvetic 
Confederacy,  and  Zsrhokke's  Invasion  of  Switzerland  by  the  French  in  1793, 
translated  by  Dr.  Aiken. 


BO 


THE  WANDERER  OF  SWITZERLAND. 


PART  I. 

A  Wanderer  of  Switzerland  and  his  Family,  consisting'  of  his  Wife,  his  Daughter, 
and  her  young  Children,  emigrating  from  their  Country,  in  consequence  of  itt 
Subjugation  by  the  French  in  1798,  arrive  at  the  Cottage  of  a  Shepherd,  beyond 
the  Frontiers,  where  they  are  hospitably  entertained. 

Shep.  "WANDERER,  whither  dost  thou  roamr 

Weary  wanderer,  old  and  gray? 
Wherefore  hast  thou  left  thine  home, 
In  the  sunset  of  thy  day?" 

Wand.  "  In  the  sunset  of  my  day, 

Stranger,  I  have  lost  my  home  : 
Weary,  wandering,  old  and  gray, 
Therefore,  therefore  do  I  roam. 

,         Here  mine  arms  a  wife  enfold, 

Fainting  in  their  weak  embrace  ; 

There  my  daughter's  charms  behold 

Withering  in  that  widow'd  face. 

These  her  infants — Oh  their  sire, 
Worthy  of  the  race  of  TELL, 
In  the  battle's  fiercest  fire, 

— In  his  country's  battle  fell!" 

Shep.  "  SWITZERLAND  then  gave  thee  birth  ?'' 
Wand.      "  Ay — 'twas  SWITZERLAND  of  yore  ; 
But,  degraded  spot  of  earth  ! 

Thou  art  SWITZERLAND  no  more  : 

O'er  thy  mountains,  sunk  in  blood, 

Are  the  waves  of  ruin  hurl'd; 
Like  the  waters  of  the  flood 

Rolling  round  a  buried  world." 


59  THE    WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND. 

Shep.  "Yet  will  Time  the  deluge  slop: 

Then  may  SWITZERLAND  be  blest : 
On  St.  Gothard's*  hoary  top 
Shall  the  ark  of  freedom  rest." 

Wand.  "  No  ! — Irreparably  lost, 

On  the  day  that  made  us  slaves, 
Freedom's  ark,  by  tempest  tost, 

Founder'd  in  the  swallowing  waves  " 

Shep.  "  Welcome,  wanderer,  as  thou  art, 

All  my  blessings  to  partake  ; 
Yet  thrice  welcome  to  my  heart 
For  thine  injured  country's  sake. 

On  the  western  hills  afar 

Evening  lingers  with  delight, 
While  she  views  her  favourite  star 

Brightening  on  the  brow  of  night 

Here,  though  lowly  be  my  lot, 

Enter  freely,  freely  share 
All  the  comforts  of  my  col, 

Humble  shelter,  homely  fare. 

Spouse  !  I  bring  a  suffering  guest, 

With  his  family  of  grief; 
Give  the  weary  pilgrim  rest, 

Yield  the  exiles  sweet  relief." 

S.  Wife.  "I  will  yield  them  sweet  relief: 

Weary  pilgrims  !  welcome  here  ; 
Welcome,  family  of  grief! 

Welcome  to  my  warmest  cheer." 

Wand.  "  When  in  prayer  the  broken  heart 

Asks  a  blessing  from  above, 
Heaven  shall  take  the  wanderer's  part, 
Heaven  reward  the  stranger's  love." 

*  ST.  UOTHARD  is  the  name  of  the  highest  mountain  in  the  canton  of  Uni,  the 
birth-place  of  Swiss  independence. 


THE    WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND.  53 

Shep.  "Haste,  recruit  the  failing  fire,    .  •»  ' 

High  the  winter-fagots  raise  : 
See  the  crackling  flames  aspire  ; 
Oh  how  cheerfully  they  blaze  ! 

Mourners  !  now  forget  your  cares, 
And,  till  supper-board  be  crown'd, 

Closely  draw  your  fire-side  chairs; 
Form  the  dear  domestic  round." 

Wand.  "  Host !  thy  smiling  daughters  bring, 

Bring  those  rosy  lads  of  thine  : 
Let  them  mingle  in  the  ring 

With  these  poor  lost  babes  of  mine  v 

Shep.  "  Join  the  ring,  my  girls  and  boys : 

This  enchanting  circle,  this 
Binds  the  social  loves  and  joys ; 
'Tis  the  fairy  ring  of  bliss !" 

Wand.  "  O  ye  loves  and  joys  !  that  sport 

In  the  fairy  ring  of  bliss, 
Oft  with  me  ye  held  your  court; 
I  hud  once  a  home  like  this ! 

*  Bountiful  my  former  lot 

As  my  native  country's  rills ; 
The  foundations  of  my  cot 
Were  her  everlasting  hills. 

But  those  streams  no  longer  pour 
Rich  abundance  round  my  lands; 

And  my  father's  cot  no  more 
On  my  father's  mountain  stands. 

By  an  hundred  winters  piled, 

When  the  glaciers,1  dark  with  death, 

Hang  o'er  precipices  wild, 

Hang — suspended  by  a  breath : 

If  a  pulse  but  throb  alarm, 

Headlong  down  the  steeps  they  fall ; 


54  THE   WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND. 

— For  a  pulse  will  break  the  charm, — 
Bounding-,  bursting,  burying  all. 

Struck  with  horror,  stiff  and  pale, 
When  the  chaos  breaks  on  high, 

All  that  view  it  from  the  vale, 
All  that  hear  it  coming,  die  : — 

In  a  day  and  hour  accurst, 

O'er  the  wretched  land  of  TELL, 

Thus  the  Gallic  ruin  burst, 
Thus  the  Gallic  glacier  fell !" 

Shep.  "  Hush  that  melancholy  strain  ; 

Wipe  those  unavailing,  tears  :" 
Wand.  "Nay — I  must,  I  will  complain; 
'Tis  the  privilege  of  years : 

'Tis  the  privilege  of  wo, 
Thus  her  anguish  to  impart : 

And  the  tears  that  freely  flow 
Ease  the  agonizing  heart." 

Shep.  "  Yet  suspend  thy  griefs  awhile  : 

See  the  plenteous  table  crown'd; 
And  my  wife's  endearing  smile 
Beams  a  rosy  welcome  round. 

Cheese  from  mountain  dairies  prest, 
Whojesome  herbs,  nutritious  roots, 

Honey  from  the  wild-bee's  nest, 
Cheering  wine  and  ripen'd  fruits : 

These,  with  soul-sustaining  bread, 
My  paternal  fields  afford  : — 

On  such  fare  our  fathers  fed  ; 
Hoary  pilgrim  !  bless  the  board  '' 


THE   WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND.  6ft 


PART  II. 

After  supper,  tls  Wanderer,  at  the  desire  of  his  host,  relates  the  sorrows  and  suf- 
ferings of  his  Country,  during  the  Invasion  and  Conquest  of  it  by  the  French, 
in  connection  with  his  own  Story. 

Shep.  "  WANDERER  !  bow'd  with  griefs  and  years, 

Wanderer,  with  the  cheek  so  pale, 
Oh  give  language  to  those  tears  ! 
Tell  their  melancholy  tale." 

Wand.  "  Stranger-friend,  the  tears  that  flow 

Down  the  .channels  of  this  cheek 
Tell  a  mystery  of  wo 

Which  no  human  tongue  can  speak. 

Not  the  pangs  of 'hope  deferr'd' 

My  tormented  bosom  tear : — 
On  the  tomb  of  hope  interr'd 

Scowls  the  spectre  of  despair. 

Where  the  Alpine  summits  rise, 

Height  o'er  height  stupendous  hurl'd ; 

Like  the  pillars  of  the  skies, 

Like  the  ramparts  of  the  world : 

Born  in  freedom's  eagle  nest, 

Rock'd  by  whirlwinds  in  their  rage, 

Nursed  at- freedom's  stormy  breast, 
Lived  my  sires  from  age  to  age. 

High  o'er  UNDERWALDEN'S  vale, 
Where  the  forest  fronts  the  morn ; 

Whence  the  boundless  eye  might  sail 
O'er  a  sea  of  mountains  borne  ; 

There  my  little  native  cot 

Peep'd  upon  my  father's  farm : — 

Oh !  it  was  a  happy  spot, 
Rich  in  every  rural  charm  ! 


THE   WANDERER    OF   SWITZERLAND. 


There  my  life,  a  silent  stream, 
Glid  along,  yet  seem'd  at  rest; 

Lovely  as  an  infant's  dream 
On  the  waking  mother's  breast. 

Till  the  storm  that  wreck'd  the  world, 

In  its  horrible  career, 
Into  hopeless  ruin  hurl'd 

All  this  aching  heart  held  dear. 

On  the  princely  towers  of  BERNE 
Fell  the  Gallic  thunder-stroke  : 

To  the  lake  of  poor  LUCERNE, 
All  submitted  to  the  yoke. 

REDING  then  his  standard  raised, 
Drew  his  sword  on  BRUNNEN'S  plain ;' 

But  in  vain  his  banner  blazed, 
REDING  drew  his  sword  in  vain. 

Where  our  conquering  fathers  died ; 

Where  their  awful  bones  repose  ; 
Thrice  the  battle's  fate  he  tried, 

Thrice  o'erthrew  his  country's  foes.8 

Happy  then  were  those  who  fell 
Fighting  on  their  father's  graves  ! 

Wretched  those  who  lived  to  tell 
Treason  made  the  victors  slaves  !* 

Thus  my  country's  life  retired, 
Slowly  driven  from  part  to  part ; 

UNDERWALDEN  last  expired ; 
UNDERWALDEN  was  the  heart.5 

In  the  valley  of  their  birth, 

Where  our  guardian  mountains  stand 
In  the  eye  of  heaven  and  earth, 

Met  the  warriors  of  our  land. 

Like  their  sires  in  olden  time, 
Arm'd  they  met  in  stern  debate ; 


THE   WANDERER    OF   SWITZERLAND.  87 

While  in  every  breast  sublime 
Glow'd  the  SPIRIT  OF  THE  STATE. 

GALLIA'S  menace  fired  their  blood ; 

With  one  heart  and  voice  they  rose : 
Hand  in  hand  the  heroes  stood, 

And  defied  their  faithless  foes. 

• 

Then  to  heaven,  in  calm  despair, 

As  they  turn'd  the  tearless  eye, 
By  their  country's  wrongs  they  sware 

With  their  country's  rights  to  die. 

ALBERT  from  the  council  came  : 

(My  poor  daughter  was  his  wife; 
All  the  valley  loved  his  name ; 

ALBERT  was  my  staff  of  life.) 

From  the  council-field  he  came  ; 

All  his  noble  visage  burn'd  ; 
At  his  look  I  caught  the  flame, 

At  his  voice  my  youth  returned. 

Fire  from  heaven  my  heart  renew'd  : 

Vigour  beat  through  every  vein  ; 
All  the  powers  that  age  had  hew'd 

Started  into  strength  again. 

Sudden  from  my  couch  I  sprang, 

Every  limb  to  life  restored; 
With  the  bound  my  cottage  rang, 

As  I  snatch'd  my  father's  sword. 

This  the  weapon  they  did  wield 

On  MORGARTIIEN'S  dreadful  day; 
And  through  SEMPACH'S"  iron  field 

This  the  ploughshare  of  their  way 

Then,  my  spouse  !  in  vain  thy  fears 

Strove  my  fury  to  restrain  ; 
O  my  daughter!  all  thy  tears. 

All  thy  children's,  were  in  vain. 


THE    WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND. 


Quickly  from  our  hastening  foes 
ALBERT'S  active  care  removed, 

Far  amidst  the  eternal  snows, 

These  who  loved  us, — these  beloved.7 

Then  our  cottage  we  forsook  ; 

Yet,  as  down  the  steeps  we  passed, 
Many  an  agonizing  look 

Homeward  o'er  the  hills  we  cast. 

Now  we  reach'd  the  nether  glen, 
Where  in  arms  our  brethren  lay; 

Thrice  five  hundred  fearless  men, 
Men  of  adamant  were  they  ! 

Nature's  bulwarks  built  by  Time, 

'Gainst  eternity  to  stand, 
Mountains  terribly  sublime, 

Girt  the  camp  on  either  hand. 

Dim,  behind,  the  valley  brake 
Into  rocks  that  fled  from  view; 

Fair  in  front  the  gleaming  lake 
Roll'd  its  waters  bright  and  blue. 

Midst  the  hamlets  of  the  dale, 

STANTZ,*  with  simple  grandeur  crown'd, 
Seem'd  the  mother  of  the  vale, 

With  her  children  scatter'd  round. 

Midst  the  ruins  of  the  vale, 
Now  she  bows  her  hoary  head, 

Like  the  widow  of  the  vale 

Weeping  o'er  her  offspring  dead. 

Happier  then  had  been  her  fate, 

Ere  she  fell  by  such  a  foe, 
Had  an  earthquake  sunk  her  state, 

Or  the  lightning  laid  her  low  !" 

*  The  capital  of  UNDERWALDEN. 


THE    WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND.  59 

S/iep.  "By  the  lightning's  deadly  flash 

Would  her  foes  had  been  consumed! 
Or  amidst  the  earthquake's  crash 
Suddenly,  alive,  entomb'd  ! 

Why  did  justice  not  prevail  ?" 
Wand.      "Ah  !  it  was  not  thus  to  be  !" 
S/iep.    "  Man  of  grief,  pursue  thy  tale 
To  the  death  of  liberty." 


PART  III. 

The  Wanderer  continues  his  Narrative,  and  describes  the  Battle  and  Massacre  of 
Underwalden. 

Wand.  "  FROM  the  valley  we  descried, 

As  the  GAULS  approach'd  our  shores, 
Keels  that  darken'd  all  the  tide, 
Tempesting  the  lake  with  oars. 

Then  the  mountain-echoes  rang 

With  the  clangour  of  alarms  : 
Shrill  the -signal-trumpet  sang  ; 

All  our  warriors  leap'd  to  arms. 

On  the  margin  of  the  flood, 

While  the  frantic  foe  drew  nigh  ; 

Grim  as  watching  wolves  w'e  stood, 
Prompt  as  eagles  stretch'd  to  fly. 

In  a  deluge  upon  land 

Burst  their  overwhelming  might: 

Back  we  hurl'd  them  from  the  strand, 
Oft  returning  to  the  fight. 

Fierce  and  long  the  combat  held  ; 

Till  the  waves  were  warm  with  blood 
Till  the  booming  waters  swell'd 

As  they  sank  beneath  the  flood." 


60  THE    WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND. 

For,  on  that  triumphant  day? 

UNDERWALDEN'S  arms  once  more 
Broke  oppression's  black  array, 

Dash'd  invasion  from  her  shore. 

* 

GAUL'S  surviving-  barks  retired, 
Muttering  vengeance  as  they  fled  : 

Hope  in  us,  by  conquest  fired, 
Raised  our  spirits  from  the  dead. 

From  the  dead  our  spirits  rose, 
To  the  dead  they  soon  return'd ; 

Bright,  on  its  eternal  close, 
UNDERWALDEN'S  glory  burn'd. 

Star  of  SWITZERLAND  !  whose  rays 
Shed  such  sweet  expiring  light, 

Ere  the  Gallic  comet's  blaze 
Swept  thy  beauty  into  night : — 

Star  of  SWITZERLAND  !  thy  fame 
No  recording  bard  hath  sung : 

Yet  be  thine  immortal  name 
Inspiration  to  my  tongue  !B 

While  the  lingering  moon  delay'd 
In  the  wilderness  of  night, 

Ere  the  morn  awoke  the  shade 
Into  loveliness  and  light ; — 

GALLIA'S  tigers,  wild  for  blood, 
Darted  on  our  sleeping  fold; 

Down  the  mountains,  o'er  the  flood, 
Dark  as  thunder-clouds  they  roll'd. 

By  the  trumpet's  voice  alarm'd, 
All  the  valley  burst  awake  ; 

All  were  in  a  moment  arm'd, 
From  the  barriers  to  the  lake. 

In  that  valley,  on  that  shore, 

When  the  graves  give  up  iheir  dead, 


THE    WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND.  61 

At  the  trumpet's  voice  once  more 

Shall  those  slumberers  quit  their  bed. 

For  the  glen  that  gave  them  birth 

Hides  their  ashes  in  its  womb  : 
Oh  !  'tis  venerable  earth, 

Freedom's  cradle,  freedom's  tomb. 

Then  on  every  side  begun 

That  unutterable  fight ; 
Never  rose  the  astonish'd  sun 

On  so  horrible  a  sight. 

Once  an  eagle  of  the  rock 

('Twas  an  omen  of  our  fatt) 
Stoop'd,  and  from  my  scatter' d  flock 

Bore  a  lambkin  to  his  mate. 

While  the  parents  fed  their  young, 

Lo  !  a  cloud  of  vultures  lean, 
By  voracious  famine  stung, 

Wildly  screaming,  rush'd  between 

Fiercely  fought  the  eagle-twain, 

Though  by  multitudes  opprest, 
Till  their  little  ones  were  slain, 

Till  they  perish'd  on  their  nest. 

More  unequal  was  the  fray 

Which  our  band  of  brethren  waged  ; 

More  insatiate  o'er  their  prey 

GAUL'S  remorseless  vultures  raged. 

In  innumerable  waves 

Swoln  with  fury,  grim  with  blood, 
Headlong  roll'd  the  hordes  of  slaves, 

And  engulf'd  us  with  a  flood. 

In  the  whirlpool  of  that  flood, 

Firm  in  fortitude  divine, 
Like  the  eternal  rocks  we  stood 

In  the  cataract  of  the  Rhine. 


THE    WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND. 


Till  by  tenfold  force  assail'd, 

In  a  hurricane  of  fire, 
When  at  length  our  phalanx  fail'd, 

Then  our  courage  blazed  the  higher. 

Broken  into  feeble  bands, 

Fighting  in  dissever'd  parts, 
Weak  and  weaker  grew  our  hands, 

Strong  and  stronger  still  our  hearts. 

Fierce  amid  the  loud  alarms, 

Shouting  in  the  foremost  fray, 
Children  raised  their  little  arms 

In  their  country's  evil  day. 

On  their  country's  dying  bed 

Wives  and  husbands  pour'd  their  breath; 
Many  a  youth  and  maiden  bled, 

Married  at  thine  altar,  Death.10 

Wildly  scatter'd  o'er  the  plain, 
Bloodier  still  the  battle  grew: — 

0  ye  spirits  of  the  slain, 
Slain  on  those  your  prowess  slew  ! 

Who  shall  now  your  deeds  relate  ? 

Ye  that  fell,  unwept,  unknown  ; 
Mourning  for  your  country's  fate, 

But  rejoicing  in  your  own  ! 

Virtue,  valour,  nought  avail'd 

With  so  merciless  a  foe  ; 
When  the  nerves  of  heroes  fail'd, 

Cowards  then  could  strike  a  blows 

Cold  and  keen  the  assassin's  blade 
Srnote  the  father  to  the  ground  ; 

Through  the  infant's  breast  convey'd 
To  the  mother's  heart  a  wound.* 

*  An  indibuiminate  massacre  followed  the  battle 


ll 


THE   WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND. 


r,3 


UNDERWALDEN  thus  expired ; 

But  at  her  expiring  flame, 
With  fraternal  feeling  fired, 

Lo  !  a  band  of  SWITZERS  came.11 

From  the  steeps  beyond  the  lake, 
Like  a  winter's  weight  of  snow, 

When  the  huge  lavanges  break, 
Devastating  all  below;12 

Down  they  rush'd  with  headlong  might 
Swifter  than  the  panting  wind; 

All  before  them  fear  and  (light ; 
Death  and  silence  all  behind. 

How  the  forest  of  the  foe 

Bow'd  before  the  thunder  strokes, 
When  they  laid  the  cedars  low, 

When  they  overwhelm'd  the  oaks 

Thus  they  hew'd  their  dreadful  way; 

Till,  by  numbers  forced  to  yield, 
Terrible  in  death  they  lay, 

The  AVENGERS  OF  THE  FIELD." 


PART  IV. 

Tkt  Wanderer  relate*  tke  Cirenmitancet  attending  the  Death  of^lbtrt. 

Shep.  "  PLEDGE  the  memory  of  the  brave, 

And  the  spirits  of  the  dead  ; 
Pledge  the  venerable  grave, 
Valour's  consecrated  bed. 

Wanderer!  cheer  thy  drooping  soul; 

This  inspiring  goblet  take  ; 
Drain  the  deep  delicious  bowl, 

For  thy  martyr'd  brethren's  sake  " 


04  THE   WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND. 

Wand.  "  Hail ! — all  hail !  the  patriot's  grave, 

Valour's  venerable  bed  : 
Hail !  the  memory  of  the  brave  ; 
Hail !  the  spirits  of  the  dead. 

Time  their  triumphs  shall  proclaim, 
And  their  rich  reward  be  this, — 

Immortality  of  fame, 
Immortality  of  bliss." 

Shep.    "  On  that  melancholy  plain, 
In  that  conflict  of  despair, 
How  was  noble  ALBERT  slain  ? 

How  didst  thou,  old  warrior,  fare  ?" 

Wand.  "  In  the  agony  of  strife, 

Where  the  heart  of  battle  bled, 
Where  his  country  lost  her  life, 
Glorious  ALBERT  bow'd  his  head 

When  our  phalanx  broke  away, 
And  our  stoutest  soldiers  fell, 

— Where  the  dark  rocks  dimm'd  the  day, 
Scowling  o'er  the  deepest  dell ; 

There,  like  lions  old  in  blood, 
Lions  rallying  round  their  den, 

Albert  and  his  warriors  stood  : 
We  were  few,  but  we  were  men. 

Breast  to  breast  we  fought  the  ground, 
Arm  to  arm  repell'd  the  foe  : 

Every  motion  was  a  wound, 
And  a  death  was  every  blow. 

Thus  the  clouds  of  sunset  beam 
Warmer  with  expiring  light; 

Thus  autumnal  meteors  stream 

Redder  through  the  darkening  night. 

Miracles  our  champions  wrought — 
Who  their  dying  deeds  shall  tell? 


THE   WANDERER    OF   SWITZERLAND. 

Oh,  how  gloriously  they  fought ! 
How  triumphantly  they  fell ! 

One  by  one  gave  up  the  ghost, 

Slain,  not  conquer'd, — they  died  free. 

ALBERT  stood, — himself  an  host: 
Last  of  all  the  Swiss  was  he. 

So,  when  night,  with  rising  shade, 
Climbs  the  Alps  from  steep  to  steep, 

Till  in  hoary  gloom  array'd 

All  the  giant-mountains  sleep — 

High  in  heaven  their  monarch13  stands 
Bright  and  beauteous  from  afar, 

Shining  into  distant  lands 
Like  a  new  created  star. 

While  I  struggled  through  the  fight, 
ALBERT  was  my  sword  and  shield; 

Till  strange  horror  quench'd  my  sight, 
And  I  fainted  on  the  field. 

Slow  awakening  from  that  trance, 
When  my  soul  return'd  to  day, 

Vanish'd  were  the  fiends  of  France, 
— But  in  ALBERT'S  blood  I  lay. 

Slain  for  me,  his  dearest  breath 

On  my  lips  he  did  resign; 
Slain  for  me,  he  snatch'd  his  death 

From  the  blow  that  menaced  mine. 

He  had  raised  his  dying  head, 
And  was  gazing  on  my  face  ; 

As  I  woke — the  spirit  fled, 
But  I  felt  his  last  embrace." 

Shep.       "Man  of  suffering !  such  a  tale 

Would  wring  tears  from  marble  eyes!" 
Wand.  "Ha!  my  daughter's  cheek  grows  pale  I" 
W.  Wife.  "  Help,  oh  help !  my  daughter  dies  !" 


THE    WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND. 


Wand.     "  Calm  thy  transports,  O  my  wife  ! 

Peace  for  these  dear  orphans'  sake  !" 
W.  Wife.  "O  my  joy,  my  hope,  my  life, 

O  my  child,  my  child,  awake  !" 

Wand.     "GoD!  O  GOD,  whose  goodness  gives; 

GOD  !  whose  wisdom  takes  away  ; 
Spare  my  child  !" 

-  "  She  lives,  she  lives  !" 


Wand.     "Lives?  —  my  daughter,  didst  thou  say? 

GOD  ALMIGHTY,  on  my  knees, 

In  the  dust,  will  I  adore 
Thine  unsearchable  decrees  ; 

—  She  was  dead:  —  she  lives  once  more.' 

W.  Dtr.  "When  poor  ALBERT  died,  no  prayer 

Call'd  him  back  to  hated  life  : 
Oh  that  I  had  perish'd  there, 
Not  his  widow,  but  his  wife  !" 

Wand.     "  Dare  my  daughter  thus  repine  ? 
ALBERT  !  answer  from  above  ; 
Tell  me,  —  are  these  infants  thine, 
Whom  their  mother  does  not  love?" 

W.  Dtr.  "  Does  not  love  !  —  my  father  hear  ; 

Hear  me,  or  my  heart  will  break  :. 
Dear  is  life,  but  only  dear 

For  my  parents',  children's  sake. 

Bow'd  to  Heaven's  mysterious  will, 

I  am  worthy  yet  of  you  ; 
Yes  !  —  I  am  a  mother  still, 

Though  I  feel  a  widow  too." 

Wand.     "Mother,  widow,  mourner,  all, 

All  kind  names  in  one,—  my  child  ; 
On  thy  faithful  neck  I  fall  ; 

Kiss  me,  —  are  we  reconciled?" 

W.  Dtr.  "  Yes,  to  ALBERT  I  appeal  : 

ALBERT,  answer  from  above, 


THE    WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND.  67 

That  my  father's  breast  may  feel 
All  his  daughter's  heart  of  love." 

S.  Wife.  "  Faint  and  way-worn  as  they  be 

With  the  day's  long  journey,  sire, 
Let  thy  pilgrim  family 

Now  with  me  to  rest  retire." 

Wand.     "  Yes,  the  hour  invites  to  sleep  ; 

Till  the  morrow  we  must  part : 
— Nay,  my  daughter,  do  not  weep, 
Do  not  weep  and  break  my  heart. 

Sorrow-soothing  sweet  repose 

On  your  peaceful  pillows  light ; 
Angel-hands  your  eyelids  close  ; 

Dream  of  Paradise  to-night." 


PART  V. 

Tkt  Wanderer,  being  left  alone  witk  the  Shepherd,  relate*  hit  Jldventuret  after  (JU 
Battle  of  Underwalden. 

Shep.    "  WHEN  the  good  man  yields  his  breath, 

(For  the  good  man  never  dies,) 
Bright,  beyond  the  gulf  of  death, 
Lo  !  the  land  of  promise  lies. 

Peace  to  ALBERT'S  awful  shade, 
In  that  land  where  sorrows  cease  ; 

And  to  ALBERT'S  ashes,  laid 

In  the  earth's  cold  bosom,  peace." 

Wand. '"  On  the  fatal  field  I  lay 

Till  the  hour  when  twilight  pale, 
Like  the  ghost  of  dying  day, 

Wander'd  down  the  darkening  vale. 

Then  in  agony  I  rose, 

And  with  horror  look'd  around. 


THE   WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND. 


Where  embracing,  friends  and  foes, 
Dead  and  dying,  stre'w'd  the  ground. 

Many  a  widow  fix'd  her  eye, 

^  Weeping  where  her  husband  bled, 
Heedless  though  her  babe  was  by, 
Prattling  to  his  father  dead. 

Many  a  mother,  in  despair 
Turning  up  the  ghastly  slain, 

Sought  her  son,  her  hero  there, 
Whom,  she  long'd  to  seek  in  vain. 

Dark  the  evening  shadows  roll'd 
On  the  eye  that  gleam'd  in  death ; 

And  the  evening-dews  fell  cold 
On  the  lip  that  gasp'd  for  breath. 

As  I  gazed,  an  ancient  dame, 

—She  was  childless  by  her  look—- 
With refreshing  cordials  came: 
Of  her  bounty  I  partook. 

Then,  with  desperation  bold, 
ALBERT'S  precious  corpse  I  bore 

On  these  shoulders  weak  and  old, 
Bow'd  with  misery  before. 

ALBERT'S  angel  gave  me  strength, 
As  I  stagger'd  down  the  glen ; 

And  I  hid  my  charge,  at  length 
In  its  wildest,  deepest  den. 

Then  returning  through  the  shade 
To  the  battle-scene,  I  sought, 

'Mongst  the  slain,  an  axe  and  spade  ; — 
With  such  weapons  FREEMEN  fought. 

Scythes  for  swords  our  youth  did  wield 

In  that  execrable  strife  ; 
Ploughshares  in  that  horrid  field 

Bled  with  slaughter,  breathed  with  life. 


THE   WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND  •  9 

In  a  dark  and  lonely  cave, 

While  the  glimmering  moon  arose, 

Thus  I  dug  my  ALBERT'S  grave  ; 
There  his  hallovv'd  limbs  repose. 

Tears  then,  tears  too  long  represt, 

Gush'd  : — they  fell  like  healing  balm, 

Till  the  whirlwind  in  my  breast 
Died  into  a  dreary  calm. 

On  the  fresh  earth's  humid  bed, 

Where  my  martyr  lay  enshrined, 
This  forlorn,  unhappy  head, 

Crazed  with  anguish,  I  reclined. 

But,  while  o'er  my  weary  eyes 

Soothing  slumbers  seem'd  to  creep, 

Forth  I  sprang,  with  strange  surprise, 
From  the  clasping  arms  of  sleep. 

For  the  bones  of  ALBERT  dead 

Heaved  the  turf  with  horrid  throes, 

And  his  grave  beneath  my  head 
Burst  asunder ; — ALBERT  rose  ! 

'  Ha !  my  son — my  son,'  I  cried, 

'  Wherefore  hast  thou  left  thy  grave  ?' 

— '  Fly,  my  father,' — he  replied  ; 

'Save  my  wife — my  children  save.' — 

In  the  passing  of  a  breath 

This  tremendous  scene  was  o'er: 
Darkness  shut  the  gates  of  death> 

Silence  seal'd  them  as  before. 

One  pale  moment  fix'd  I  stood 

In  astonishment  severe  ; 
Horror  petrified  my  blood, — 

I  was  wither'd  u*p  with  fear. 

Then  a  sudden  trembling  came 
O'er  my  limbs ;  I  felt  on  fire, 


70  THE   WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND. 

Burning,  quivering  like  a  flame 
In  the  instant  to  expire." 

"Rather  like  the  mountain-oak, 
Tempest-shaken,  rooted  fast, 

Grasping  strength  from  every  stroke, 
While  it  wrestles  with  the  blast." 

Wand,  "  Ay  ! — my  heart,  unworit  to  yield, 

Quickly  quell'd  the  strange  affright, 
And  undaunted  o'er  the  field 
t  began  my  lonely  flight. 

Loud  the  gusty  night-wind  blew; — 
Many  an  awful  pause  between, 

Fits  of  light  and  darkness  flew 
Wild  and  sudden  o'er  the  scene. 

For  the  moon's  resplendent  eye 
Gleams  of  transient  glory  shed; 

And  the  clouds,  athwart  the  sky, 
Like  a  routed  army  fled. 

Sounds  and  voices  fill'd  the  vale, 
Heard  alternate  loud  and  low; 

Shouts  of  victory  swell'd  the  gale, 
But  the  breezes  murmur'd  wo. 

As  I  climb'd  the  mountain's  side, 
Where  the  lake  and  valley  meet, 

All  my  country's  power  and  pride 
Lay  in  ruins  at  my  feet. 

On  that  grim  and  ghastly  plain 

UNDERWALDEN'S  heart-strings  broke 

When  she  saw  her  heroes  slain, 
And  her  rocks  receive  the  yoke. 

On  that  plain,  in  childhood's  hours. 
From  their  mothers'  arms  set  fren, 

Oft  those  heroes  gather'd  flowers, 
Often  chased  the  wandering  bee. 


THE   WANDERER    OF   SWITZERLAND.  71 

On  that  plain,  in  rosy  youth, 

They  had  fed  their  fathers'  flocks, 

Told  their  love,  and  pledged  their  truth, 
In  the  shadow  of  those  rocks. 

There,  with  shepherd's  pipe  and  song, 

In  the  merry  mingling  dance, 
Once  they  led  their  brides  along, 

Now! Perdition  seize  thee,  France 5" 

Shcp.    "  Heard  not  Heaven  the  accusing  cries 

Of  the  blood  that  smoked  around, 
While  the  life-warm  sacrifice 
Palpitated  on  the;  ground  ?" 

Wand.  "  Wrath  in  silence  heaps  his  store, 

To  confound  the  guilty  foe  ; 
But  the  thunder  will  not  roar 

Till  the  flash  has  struck  the  blow. 

Vengeance,  vengeance  will  not  stay  ; 

It  sJiall  burst  on  GALLIA'S  head, 
Sudden  as  the  judgment-day 

To  the  unexpecting  dead. 

From  the  Revolution's  flood 

Shall  a  fiery  dragon  start ; 
He  shall  drink  his  mother's  blood, 

He  shall  eat  his  father's  heart. 

Nursed  by  anarchy  and  crime, 

He but  distance  mocks  my  sight ; 

O  thou  great  avenger,  TIME  ! 

Bring  thy  strangest  birth  to  light.'* 

Shep.    "  Prophet,  thou  hast  spoken  well, 
And  I  deem  thy  words  divine : 
Now  the  mournful  sequel  tell 

Of  thy  country's  woes  and  thine." 

ff'and.  "Though  the  moon's  bewilder'd  bark, 
By  the  midnight  tempest  lost, 


THE   WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND. 


In  a  sea  of  vapours  dark, 
In  a  gulf  of  clouds  was  lost ; 

Still  my  journey  I  pursued, 
Climbing  many  a  weary  steep, 

Whence  the  closing  scene  I  view'd 
With  an  eye  that  would  not  weep. 

STANTZ — a  melancholy  pyre — 
And  her  hamlets  blazed  behind, 

With  ten  thousand  tongues  of  fire, 
Writhing,  raging  in  the  wind. 

Flaming  piles,  where'er  I  turn'd, 
Cast  a  grim  and  dreadful  light ; 

Like  funereal  lamps  they  burn'd 
In  the  sepulchre  of  night ; 

While  the  red  illumined  flood, 
With  a  hoarse  and  hollow  roar, 

Seem'd  a  lake  of  living  blood 
Wildly  weltering  on  the  shore. 

Midst  the  mountains  far  away, 
Soon  I  spied  the  sacred  spot, 

Whence  a  slow  consuming  ray 
Glimmer'd  from  my  native  cot. 

U  the  sight  my  brain  was  fired, 
And  afresh  my  heart's  wounds  bled; 

Still  I  gazed : the  spark  expired — 

Nature  seem'd  extinct : — I  fled. — 

Fled  ;  and,  ere  the  noon  of  day, 
Reach'd  the  lonely  goat-herd's  nest, 

Where  my  wife,  my  children  lay — 
Husband — father think  the  rest ' 


THE   WANDERER    OF   SWITZERLAND.  73 


PART  VI. 

The  Wanderer  informs  the  Shepherd  that,  after  the  example  of  many  of  fci*  Coun- 
trymen flying  from  the  Tyranny  of  France,  it  is  his  intention  to  settle  in  tome 
remote  province  of  America. 

Shep.    "  WANDERER,  whither  wouldst  thou  roam  ? 

To  what  region  far  away 
Bend  thy  steps  to  find  a  home, 
In  the  twilight  of  thy  day  ?" 

Wand.  "  In  the  twilight  of  my  day 

I  am  hastening  to  the  West; 
There  my  weary  limbs  to  lay, 
Where  the  sun  retires  to  rest. 

Far  beyond  the  Atlantic  floods, 
Stretch'd  beneath  the  evening  sky, 

Realms  of  mountains,  dark  with  woods, 
In  Columbia's  bosom  lie. 

There,  in  glens  and  caverns  rude, 

Silent  since  the  world  began, 
Dwells  the  virgin  Solitude, 

Unbetray'd  by  faithless  man; 

Where  a  tyrant  never  trod, 

Where  a  slave  was  never  known, 

But  where  Nature  .worships  GOD 
In  the  wilderness  alone  ; 

— Thither,  thither  would  I  roam  ; 

There  my  children  may  be  free ; 
I  for  them  will  find  a  home, 

They  shall  find  a  grave  for  me. 

Though  my  father's  bones  afar 

In  their  native  land  repose, 
Yet  beneath  the  twilight  star 

Soft  on  mine  the  turf  shall  close. 

VOL.  I.  7 


74  THE   WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND. 

Though  the  mould  that  wraps  my  clay 
When  this  storm  of  life  is  o'er, 

Never  since  creation  lay 

On  a  human  breast  before  ; — 

Yet  in  sweet  communion  there, 
When  she  follows  to  the  dead, 

Shall  my  bosom's  partner  share 
Her  poor  husband's  lowly  bed. 

ALBERT'S  babes  shall  deck  our  grave, 
And  my  daughter's  duteous  tears 

Bid  the  flowery  verdure  wave 

Through  the  winter-waste  of  years." 

Shep.    "Long  before  thy  sun  descend, 

May  thy  woes  and  wanderings  cease ; 
Late  and  lovely  be  thine  end  ; 

Hope  and  triumph,  joy  and  peace  ! 

As  our  lakes,  at  day's  decline, 

Brighten  through  the  gathering  gloom, 

May  thy  latest  moments  shine 

Through  the  night-fall  of  the  tomb." 

Wand.  "  Though  our  parent  perish'd  here, 

Like  the  phrenix  on  her  nest, 
Lo  !  new-fledged  her  wings  appear, 
Hovering  in  the  golden  West. 

Thither  shall  her, sons  repair, 
And  beyond  the  roaring  main 

Find  their  native  country  there, 
Find  their  SWITZERLAND  again. 

Mountains,  can  ye  chain  the  will  ? 

Ocean,  canst  thou  quench  the  heart  ? 
No  ;  I  feel  my  country  still, 

LIBERTY  !  where'er  thou  art. 

Thus  it  was  in  hoary  time, 

When  our  fathers  sallied  forth, 


THE   WANDERER    OF    SWITZERLAND.  75 

Full  of  confidence  sublime, 

From  the  famine-wasted  North.15 

'Freedom,  in  a  land  of  rocks 

Wild  as  Scandinavia,  give, 
POWER  ETERNAL  ! — where  our  flocks 

And  our  little  ones  may  live.' 

Thus  they  pray'd ; — a  secret  hand 

Led  them,  by  a  path  unknown, 
To  that  dear  delightful  Innd 

Which  I  yet  must  call  my  own. 

To  the  vale  of  SWITZ  they  came  : 

Soon  their  meliorating  toil 
Gave  the  forests  to  the  flame, 

And  their  ashes  to  the  soil. 

Thence  their  ardent  labours  spread, 

Till  above  the  mountain-snows 
Towering  beauty  show'd  her  head, 

And  a  new  creation  rose  ! 

— So,  in  regions  wild  and  wide, 
We  will  pierce  the  savage  woods, 

Clothe  the  rocks  in  purple  pride, 

Plough  the  valleys,  tame  the  floods  ;— 

Till  a  beauteous  inland  isle, 

By  a  forest-sea  embraced, 
Shall  make  Desolation  smile 

In  the  depth  of  his  own  waste. 

There,  unenvied  and  unknown, 

We  shall  dwell  secure  and  free, 
In  a  country  all  our  own, 

In  a  land  of  liberty." 

Shep.    "Yet  the  woods,  the  rocks,  the  streams, 

Unbeloved,  shall  bring  to  mind, 
Warm  with  evening's  purple  beams, 
Dearer  objects  left  behind  ; — 


78  THE    WANDERER    OF   SWITZERLAND. 

And  thy  native  country's  song, 
Caroll'd  in  a  foreign  clirne, 

When  new  echoes  shall  prolong, 
— Simple,  tender,  and  sublime  ; — 

How  will  thy  poor  cheek  turn  pale, 
And,  before  thy  banish'd  eyes, 

UNDERWALDEN'S  charming  vale, 

And  thine  own  sweet  cottage,  rise  !" 

Wand.  "  By  the  glorious  ghost  of  TELL ; 

By  MORCARTHEN'S  awful  fray; 
By  the  field  where  ALBERT  fell 
In  thy  last  and  bitter  day ; 

SOUL  OF  SWITZERLAND,  arise  ! 

Ha!  the  spell  has  waked  the  dead: 

From  her  ashes  to  the  skies  .     • 

SWITZERLAND  exalts  her  head. 

See  the  queen  of  mountains  stand, 
In  immortal  mail  complete, 

With  the  lightning  in  her  hand, 
And  the  Alps  beneath  her  feet 

Hark  !  her  voice  ; — '  My  sons,  awake ; 

Freedom  dawns,  behold  the  day: 
From  the  bed  of  bondage  break, 

'Tis  your  mother  calls, — obey.' 

At  the  sound,  our  fathers'  graves, 
On  each  ancient  battle-plain, 

Utter  groans,  and  toss  like  waves 

When  the  wild  blast  sweeps  the  main. 

Rise,  my  brethren  :  cast  away 

All  the  chains  that  bind  you  slaves: 

Rise, — your  mother's  voice  obey, 
And  appease  your  fathers'  graves. 

Strike  !— the  conflict  is  begun; 
Freemen,  soldiers,  follow  me. 


THE   WANDERER    OF   SWITZERLAND.  77 

Shout ! — the  victory  is  won, — 
SWITZERLAND  AND  LIBERTY  !" 

Shep.  "  Warrior,  warrior,  stay  thine  arm ! 

Sheathe,  oh  sheathe  thy  frantic  sword  !" 
Wand.  "Ah  !  I  rave — I  feint: — the  charm 

Flies, — and  memory  is  restored. 

Yes,  to  agony  restored, 

From  the  too  transporting  charm :— * 
Sleep  for  ever,  O  my  sword  ! 

Be  thou  wither'd,  O  mine  arm  1 

SWITZERLAND  is  but  a  na'.ne  •, 
Yet  I  feel,  where'er  I  roam, 

That  my  heart  is  still  the  same, 
SWITZERLAND  is  still  my  home  " 


THE    WEST    INDIES. 

A    POEM,  IN    FOUR   PARTS. 

WKITTEN   IN   HONOUR   OF  THE   ABOLITION    OF  THE   AFRICAN   SLAVE 
TRADE,    BY   THE   BRITISH    LEGISLATURE,    IN    1807. 


"  Receive  him  for  ever ;  not  now  as  a  servant,  but  above  a  servant,— a  brother 
beloved"— 3i.  Paul's  Epist.  to  Philemon,  v.  15. 16. 


THIS  poem  was  undertaken  at  the  request  of  Mr.  Bowyer,  in  May,  1807.  The 
author  had  not  the  resolution  to  forego  an  opportunity  of  being  presented  be- 
fore Ihe  public,  in  a  style  of  external  magnificence  which  he  would  never  have 
bad  the  assurance  to  assume  unsolicited.  Though  he  is  convinced  that,  were 
it  proper  to  explain  the  private  history  of  this  work,  he  would  be  fully  acquitted 
of  presumption  in  having  accepted  the  splendid  invitation  of  the  proprietor,  yet 
he  cannot  help  feeling  that  an  appearance  so  superb,  instead  of  prejudicing  the 
public  in  his  favour,  will,  in  reality,  only  render  him  more  obvious,  and  ob- 
noxious to  criticism,  if  he  be  found  unworthy  of  the  situation  in  which  he 
stands.  Conscious,  however,  that  he  has  exerted  his  utmost  diligence  and 
ability  to  do  honour  to  his  theme,  and  well  aware  that  his  poem  can  derive  no 
lustre  from  the  accompanying  embellishments,  unless  it  first  casts  a  glory  upon 
them,  he  thinks  himself  warranted  to  hope  that  it  will  be  read  and  judged  with 
the  same  indulgence,  which,  from  past  success,  he  believes  it  would  have  ex- 
perienced had  it  been  produced  in  a  form  more  becoming  his  pretensions  as  a 
man  and  a  writer. 

There  are  objections  against  the  title  and  plan  of  this  piece,  which  will  occur 
to  almost  every  reader.  The  author  will  not  anticipate  them :  he  will  only 
observe,  that  the  title  seemed  the  best,  and  the  plan  the  most  eligible,  which  he 
could  adapt  to  a  subject  so  various  and  excursive,  yet  so  familiar  and  exhausted, 
as  the  African  Slave  Trade,— a  subject  which  had  become  antiquated,  by  fre- 
quent, minute,  and  disgusting  exposure;  which  afforded  no  opportunity  to 
awaken,  suspend,  and  delight  curiosity,  by  a  subtle  and  surprising  development 
of  plot;  and  concerning  which  public  feeling  had  been  wearied  into  insensi- 
bility, by  the  agony  of  interest  which  the  question  excited,  during  three  and 
twenty  years  nf  almost  incessant  discussion.  That  trade  is  at  length  abolished. 
May  its  memory  be  immortal,  that  henceforth  it  may  be  known  only  by  its 
memory ! 

Sheffield,  December  1, 18G8. 


THE  WEST  INDIES. 


PART  I. 

ARGUMENT.— Introduction;  on  the  Abolition  of  the  Slave  Trait—  The  Mariner' t 
Compass—  Columbus— The  Discvvery  of  America — The  West  Indian  Island* — 
The  Chariba— Their  Extermination. 

"  THY  chains  are  broken,  Africa,  be  free  !" 
Thus  saith  the  island-empress  of  the  sea; 
Thus  saith  Britannia.     O,  ye  winds  and  waves ! 
Waft  the  glad  tidings  to  the  land  of  slaves ; 
Proclaim  on  Guinea's  coast,  by  Gambia's  side, 
And  far  as  Niger  rolls  his  eastern  tide,1 
Through  radiant  realms,  beneath  the  burning  zone, 
Where  Europe's  curse  is  felt,  her  name  unknown, 
Thus  saith  Britannia,  empress  of  the  sea, 
"  Thy  chains  are  broken,  Africa,  be  free  !'* 

Long  lay  the  ocean-paths  from  man  conceal'd  ; 
Light  came  from  heaven, — the  magnet  was  reveal'd 
A  surer  star  to  guide  the  seaman's  eye 
Than  the  pale  glory  of  the  northern  sky ; 
Alike  ordain'd  to  shine  by  night  and  day, 
Through  calm  and  tempest,  with  unsetting  ray  ;      t 
Where'er  the  mountains  rise,  the  billows  roll, 
Still  with  strong  impulse  turning  to  the  pole, 
True  as  the  sun  is  to  the  morning  true, 
Though  light  as  film,  and  trembling  as  the  dew. 

Then  man  no  longer  plied,  with  timid  oar 
And  failing  heart,  along  the  windward  shore  ; 
Broad  to  the  sky  he  turn'd  his  fearless  sail, 
Defied  the  adverse,  woo'd  the  favouring  gale, 
Bared  to  the  storm  his  adamantine  breast, 
Or  soft  on  ocean's  lap  lay  down  to  rest; 

u 


82  THE    WEST    INDIES. 


While  free,  as  clouds  the  liquid  ether  sweep, 
His  white-winged  vessels  coursed  the  unbounded  deep; 
From  clime  to  clime  the  wanderer  loved  to  roam, 
The  waves  his  heritage,  the  world  his  home. 

Then  first  Columbus,  with  the  mighty  hand 
Of  grasping  genius,  weigh'd  the  sea  and  land  ; 
The  floods  o'erbalanced  : — where  the  tide  of  light, 
Day  after  day,  roll'd  down  the  gulf  of  night, 
There  seetn'd  one  waste  of  waters  : — long  in  vain 
His  spirit  brooded  o'er  the  Atlantic  main  ; 
When  sudden,  as  creation  burst  from  naught, 
Sprang  a  new  world  through  his  stupendous  thought, 
Light,  order,  beauty ! — While  his  mind  explored 
The  unveiling  mystery,  his  heart  adored ; 
Where'er  sublime  imagination  trod, 
He  heard  the  voice,  he  saw  the  face  of  God. 

Far  from  the  western  cliffs  he  cast  his  eye 
O'er  the  wide  ocean  stretching  to  the  sky  : 
In  calm  magnificence  the  sun  declined, 
And  left  a  paradise  of  clouds  behind : 
Proud  at  his  feet,  with  pomp  of  pearl  and  gold, 
The  billows  in  a  sea  of  glory  roll'd. 

" — Ah  !  on  this  sea  of  glory  might  I  sail, 
Track  the  bright  sun,  and  pierce  the  eternal  veil 
That  hides  those  lands,  beneath  Hesperian  skies, 
Where  daylight  sojourns  till  our  morrow  rise  !" 

Thoughtful  he  wander'd  on  the  beach  alone  ; 
Mild  o'er  the  deep  the  vesper  planet  shone, 
The  eye  of  evening,  brightening  through  the  west 
Till  the  sweet  moment  when  it  shut  to  rest: 
"  Whither,  O  golden  Venus  !  art  thou  fled  ? 
Not  in  the  ocean-chambers  lies  thy  bed  ; 
Round  the  dim  world  thy  glittering  chariot  drawn 
Pursues  the  twilight,  or  precedes  the  dawn  ; 
Thy  beauty  noon  and  midnight  never  see, 
The  morn  and  eve  divide  the  year  with  thee." 

Soft  fell  the  shades,  till  Cynthia's  slender  bow 
Crested  the  farthest  wave,  then  sunk  below: 


THE    WEST    INDIES.  83 


"Tell  me,  resplendent  guardian  of  the  night, 
Circling  the  sphere  in  thy  perennial  flight, 
What  secret  path  of  heaven  thy  smiles  adorn, 
What  nameless  sea  reflects  thy  gleaming  horn?" 

Now.  earth  and  ocean  vanished,  all  serene 
The  starry  firmament  alone  was  seen  ; 
Through  the  slow,  silent  hours,  he  watch'd  the  host 
Of  midnight  suns  in  western  darkness  lost, 
Till  .Night  himself,  on  shadowy  pinions  borne, 
Fled  o'er  the  mighty  waters,  and  the  morn 
Danced  on  the  mountains: — "Lights  of  heaven!"  he  cried, 
"Lead  on  ; — I  go  to  win  a  glorious  bride; 
Fearless  o'er  gulfs  unknown  I  urge  my  way, 
Where  peril  prowls,  and  shipwreck  lurks  for  prey: 
Hope  swells  my  sail; — in  spirit  I  behold 
That  maiden  world,  twin-sister  of  the  old, 
By  nature  nursed  beyond  the  jealous  sea, 
Denied  to  ages,  but  betroth'd  to  me."8 

The  winds  were  prosperous,  and  the  billows  bore 
The  brave  adventurer  to  the  promised  shore; 
Far  in  the  west,  array'd  in  purple  light, 
Dawn'd  the  new  world  on  his  enraptured  sight: 
Not  Adam,  loosen'd  from  the  encumbering  earth, 
Waked  by  the  breath  of  God  to  instant  birth, 
With  sweeter,  wilder  wonder  gazed  around, 
When  life  within  and  light  without  he  found; 
When,  all  creation  rushing  o't-r  his  soul, 
He  seem'd  to  live  and  breathe  throughout  the  whole. 
So  felt  Columbus,  when,  divinely  fair, 
At  the  list  look  of  resolute  despair, 
The  Hesperian  isles,  from  distance  dimly  blue, 
With  gradual  beauty  open'd  on  his  view. 
In  that  proud  moment,  his  transported  mind 
The  morning  and  the  evening  worlds  combined, 
And  made  the  sea,  that  sunder'd  them  before, 
A  bond  of  peace,  uniting  shore  to  shore. 

Vain,  visionary  hope  !  rapacious  Spain 
Follow'd  her  hero's  triumph  o'er  the  main. 


THE    WEST    INDIES. 


Her  hardy  sons,  in  fields  of  battle  tried, 

Where  Moor  and  Christian  desperately  died, 

A  rabid  race,  fanatically  bold, 

And  steel'd  to  cruelty  by  lust  of  gold, 

Traversed  the  waves,  the  unknown  world  explore^, 

The  cross  their  standard,  but  their  faith  the  sword  ; 

Their  steps  were  graves;  o'er  prostrate  realms  they  trod; 

They  worshipp'd  Mammon  while  they  vow'd  to  God. 

Let  nobler  bards  in  loftier  numbers  tell 
How  Cortez  conquer'd,  Montezuma  fell; 
How  fierce  Pizarro's  ruffian  arm  o'erthrew 
The  sun's  resplendent  empire  in  Peru  ; 
How,  like  a  prophet,  old  Las  Casas  stood, 
And  raised  his  voice  against  a  sea  of  blood, 
Whose  chilling  waves  recoil'd  while  he  foretold 
His  country's  ruin  by  avenging  gold. 
— That  gold,  for  which  un pitied  Indians  fell, 
That  gold,  at  once  the  snare  and  scourge  of  hell, 
Thenceforth  by  righteous  Heaven  was  doom'd  to  shed 
Unmingled  curses  on  the  spoiler's  head; 
For  gold  the  Spaniard  cast  his  soul  away, — 
His  gold  and  he  were  every  nation's  prey. 

But  themes  like  these  would  ask  an  angel-lyre, 
Language  of  light,  and  sentiment  of  fire  ; 
Give  me  to  sing,  in  melancholy  strains, 
Of  Charib  martyrdoms  and  Negro  chains; 
One  race  by  tyrants  rooted  from  the  earth, 
One  doom'd  to  slavery  by  the  taint  of  birth  ! 

Where  first  his  drooping  sails  Columbus  furl'd 
And  sweetly  rested  in  another  world, 
Amidst  the  heaven-reflecting  ocean,  smiles 
A  constellation  of  elysian  isles; 
Fair  as  Orion  when  he  mounts  on  high, 
Sparkling  with  midnight  splendour  from  the  sky: 
They  bask  beneath  the  sun's  meridian  rays, 
When  not  a  shadow  breaks  the  boundless  blaze  ; 
The  breath  of  ocean  wanders  through  their  vales 
In  morni  ig  breezes  and  in  evening  gales : 


THE    WEST    INDIES.  85 


Earth  from  her  lap  perennial  verdure  pours, 
Ambrosial  fruits,  and  amaranthine  flowers; 
O'er  the  wild  mountains  and  luxuriant  plains, 
Nature  in  all  the  pomp  of  beauty  reigns, 
In  a.11  the  pride  of  freedom. — NATURE  FREE 
Proclaims  that  MAN  was  born  for  liberty.' 
She  flourishes  where'er  the  sunbeams  play 
O'er  living  fountains,  sallying  into  day; 
She  withers  where  the  waters  cease  to  roll, 
And  night  and  winter  stagnate  round  the  pole  : 
Man  too,  where  freedom's  beams  and  fountains  rise, 
Springs  from  the  dust,  and  blossoms  to  the  skies; 
Dead  to  the  joys  of  light  and  life,  the  slave 
Clings  to  the  clod  ;  his  root  is  in  the  grave  : 
Bondage  is  winter,  darkness,  death,  despair: 
Freedom  the  sun,  the  sea,  the  mountains,  and  the  an  ! 

In  placid  indolence  supinely  blest, 
A  feeble  race  these  beauteous  isles  possess'd ; 
Untamed,  untaught,  in  arts  and  arms  unskill'd, 
Their  patrimonial  soil  they  rudely  till'd, 
Chased  the  free  rovers  of  the  savage  wood, 
Ensnared  the  wild-bird,  swept  the  scaly  flood, 
Shelter'd  in  lowly  huts  their  fragile  forms 
From  burning  suns  and  desolating  storms  ; 
Or  when  the  halcyon  sported  on  the  breeze, 
In  light  canoes  they  skimm'd  the  rippling  seas; 
Their  lives  in  dreams  of  soothing  languor  flew, 
No  parted  joys,  no  future  pains  they  knew, 
The  passing  moment  all  their  bliss  or  care  ; 
Such  as  their  sires  had  been  the  children  were, 
From  age  to  age  ;  as  waves  upon  the  tide 
Of  stormlcss  time,  they  calmly  lived  and  died. 

Dreadful  as  hurricanes,  athwart  the  main, 
Rush'd  the  fell  legions  of  invading  Spain  ; 
With  fraud  and  force,  with  false  and  fatal  breath, 
(Submission  bondage,  and  resistance  death,) 
They  swept  the  isles.     In  vain  the  .simple  race 
Kneel'd  to  the  iron  sceptre  of  their  grace, 


88  THE    WEST    INDIES. 

Or  with  weak  arms  their  fiery  vengeance  braved  ; 

They  came,  they  saw,  they  conquer'd,  they  enslaved, 

And  they  destroy'd  ; — the  generous  heart  they  broke, 

They  crush'd  the  timid  neck  beneath  the  yoke  ; 

Where'er  to  battle  march'd  their  fell  array, 

The  sword  of  conquest  plough'd  resistless  way; 

Where'er  from  cruel  toil  they  sought  repose, 

Around  the  fires  of  devastation  rose. 

The  Indian,  as  he  turn'd  his  head  in  flight, 

Beheld  his  cottage  flaming  through  the  night, 

And,  midst  the  shrieks  of  murder  on  the  wind, 

Heard  the  mute  blood-hound's  death-step  close  behind. 

The  conflict  o'er,  the  valiant  in  their  graves, 
The  wretched  remnant  dwindled  into  slaves  ; 
Condemn'd  in  pestilential  cells  to  pine, 
Delving  for  gold  amidst  the  gloomy  mine, 
The  sufferer,  sick  of  life-protracting  breath, 
Inhaled  with  joy  the  fire-damp  blast  of  death ; 
— Condemn'd  to  fell  the  mountain  palm  on  high, 
That  cast  its  shadow  from  the  evening  sky, 
Ere  the  tree  trembled  to  his  feeble  stroke, 
The  woodman  languish'd,  and  his  heart-strings  broke  ; 
—Condemn'd  in  torrid  noon,  with  palsied  hand, 
To  urge  the  slow  plough  o'er  the  obdurate  land, 
The  labourer,  smitten  by  the  sun's  quick  ray, 
A  corpse  along  the  unfinished  furrow  lay. 
O'erwhelm'd  at  length  with  ignominious  toil, 
Mingling  their  barren  ashes  with  the  soil, 
Down  to  the  dust  the  Charib  people  pass'd, 
Like  autumn  foliage  withering  in  the  blast : 
The  whole  race  sunk  beneath  the  oppressor's  rod, 
Acd  left  a  blank  among  the  works  of  God. 


THF.    WEST    INDIES.  87 


PART  II. 

ARGUMENT.— The  Cane— Africa— The  Jfcfrro—The  Slave-carrying  Trade— Tin 
Means  and  Resources  of  the  Slave  Trade— The  Portuguese,  Dutch,  Danes, 
French,  and  English  in  America. 

AMONG  the  bowers  of  paradise,  that  graced 

Those  islands  of  the  world-dividing  waste, 

Where  towering  cocoas  waved  their  graceful  locks, 

And  vines  luxuriant  cluster'd  round  the  rocks  ; 

Where  orange-groves  perfumed  the  circling  air, 

With  verdure,  flowers,  and  fruit  for  ever  fair; 

Gay  myrtle-foliage  track'd  the  winding  rills, 

And  cedar  forests  slumber'd  on  the  hills; 

— An  eastern  plant,  engrafted  on  the  soil,3 

Was  till'd  for  ages  with  consuming  toil; 

No  tree  of  knowledge  with  forbidden  fruit, 

Death  in  the  taste,  and  ruin  at  the  root ; 

Yet  in  its  growth  were  good  and  evil  found,—- 

It  bless'd  the  planter,  but  it  cursed  the  ground 

While  with  vain  wealth  it  gorged  the  master's  hoard, 

And  spread  with  manna  his  luxurious  board, 

Its  culture  was  perdition  to  the  slave, — 

It  sapp'd  his  life,  and  flourish'd  on  his  grave. 

When  the  fierce  spoiler  from  remorseless  Spain 
Tasted  the  balmy  spirit  of  the  cane, 
(Already  had  his  rival  in  the  west 
From  the  rich  reed  ambrosial  sweetness  press'd,) 
Dark  through  his  thoughts  the  miser  purpose  roll'd 
To  turn  its  hidden  treasures  into  gold. 
But  at  his  breath,  by  pestilent  decay. 
The  Indian  tribes  were  swiftly  swept  away  ; 
Silence  and  horror  o'er  the  isles  were  spread, 
The  living  seem'd  the  spectres  of  the  dead. 
The  Spaniard  saw ;  no  sigh  of  pity  stole, 
No  pang  of  conscience  touch'd  his  sullen  soul: 
The  tiger  weeps  not  o'er  the  kid ; — he  turns 
His  (lashing  eyes  abroad,  and  madly  burns 


THE    WEST    INDIES. 


For  nobler  victims,  and  for  warmer  blood  : 
Thus  on  the  Charib  shore  the  tyrant  stood, 
Thus  cast  his  eyes  with  fury  o'er  the  tide, 
And  far  beyond  the  gloomy  gulf  descried 
Devoted  Africa:  he  burst  away, 
And  with  a  yell  of  transport  grasp'd  his  prey. 

Where  the  stupendous  Mountains  of  the  Moon 
Gas*  their  broad  shadows  o'er  the  realms  of  noon  ; 
From  rude  Caffraria,  where  the  giraffes  browse, 
With  stately  heads  among  the  forest  boughs, 
To  Atlas,  where  Numidian  lions  glow 
With  torrid  fire  beneath  eternal  snow : 
From  Nubian  hills,  that  hail  the  dawning  day, 
To  Guinea's  coast,  where  evening  fades  away, 
Regions  immense,  unsearchable.,  unknown, 
Bask  in  the  splendour  of  the  solar  zone  ; 
A  world  of  wonders, — where  creation  seems 
No  more  the  works  of  Nature,  but  her  dreams; 
Great,  wild,  and  beautiful,  beyond  control, 
She  reigns  in  all  the  freedom  of  her  soul ; 
Where  none  can  check  her  bounty  Avhen  she  showers 
O'er  the  gay  wilderness  her  fruits  and  flowers ; 
None  brave  her  fury,  when,  with  whirlwind  breath 
And  earthquake  step,  she  walks  abroad  with  death : 
O'er  boundless  plains  she  holds  her  fiery  flight, 
In  terrible  magnificence  of  light ; 
At  blazing  noon  pursues  the  evening  breeze, 
Through  the  dun  gloom  of  realm-o'ershadowing  trees, 
Her  thirst  at  Nile's  mysterious  fountain  quells, 
Or  bathes  in  secrecy  where  Niger  swells 
An  inland  ocean,  on  whose  jasper  rocks 
With  shells  and  sea-flower  wreaths  she  binds  her  locks 
She  sleeps  on  isles  of  velvet  verdure,  placed 
Midst  sandy  gulfs  and  shoals  for  ever  waste ; 
She  guides  her  countless  flocks  to  cherish'd  rills; 
And  feeds  her  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills  ; 
Her  steps  the  wild  bees  welcome  through  the  vale, 
From  every  blossom  that  embalms  the  gale ; 


THE   WEST   INDIES. 


The  slow  unwieldy  river-horse  she  leads 

Through  the  deep  waters,  o'er  the  pasturing  meads; 

And  climbs  the  mountains  that  invade  the  sky, 

To  soothe  the  eagle's  nestlings  when  they  cry. 

At  sunset,  when  voracious  monsters  burst 

From  dreams  of  blood,  awaked  by  maddening  thirst; 

When  the  lorn  caves,  in  which  they  shrunk  from  light, 

Ring  with  wild  echoes  through  the  hideous  night; 

When  darkness  seems  alive,  and  all  the  air 

Is  one  tremendous  uproar  of  despair, 

Horror,  and  agony ; — on  her  they  call ; 

She  hears  their  clamour,  she  provides  for  all, 

Leads  the  light  leopard  on  his  eager  way, 

And  goads  the  gaunt  hyaena  to  his  prey. 

In  these  romantic  regions  man  grows  wild  : 
Here  dwells  the  Negro,  nature's  outcast  child, 
Scorn'd  by  his  brethren  ;  but  his  mother's  eye, 
That  gazes  on  him  from  her  warmest  sky, 
Sees  in  his  flexile  limbs  untutord  grace, 
Power  on  his  forehead,  beauty  in  his  face  ; 
Sees  in  his  breast,  where  lawless  passions  rove, 
The  heart  of  friendship  and  the  home  of  love; 
Sees  in  his  mind,  where  desolation  reigns, 
Fierce  as  his  clime,  uncultured  as  his  plains, 
A  soil  where  virtue's  fairest  flowers  might  shoot, 
And  trees  of  science  bend  with  glorious  fruit; 
Sees  in  his  soul,  involved  with  thickest  night, 
An  emanation  of  eternal  light, 
Ordain'd,  midst  sinking  worlds,  his  dust  to  fire, 
And  shine  for  ever  when  the  stars  expire. 
Is  he  not  man,  though  knowledge  never  shed 
Her  quickening  beams  on  his  neglected  head  ? 
Is  he  not  man,  though  sweet  religion's  voice 
Ne'er  made  the  mourner  in  his  God  rejoice? 
Is  he  not  man,  by  sin  and  suffering  tried  ? 
Is  he  not  man,  for  whom  the  Saviour  died  ? 
Belie  the  Negro's  powers: — in  headlong  will, 
Cl-ristian  !  thy  brother  thou  shall  prove  him  still  I 


THE    WEST    INDIES. 


Belie  his  virtues;  since  his  wrongs  began, 

His  follies  and  his  crimes  have  starnpt  him  Man. 

The  Spaniard  found  him  such: — the  island-race 
His  foot  had  spurn'd  from  earth's  insulted  face; 
Among  the  waifs  and  foundlings  of  mankind, 
Abroad  he  look'd,  a  sturdier  stock  to  find  ; 
A  spring  of  life,  whose  fountains  should  supply 
His  channels  as  he  drank  the  rivers  dry: 
That  stock  he  found  on  Afric's  swarming  plains, 
That  spring  he  open'd  in  the  negro's  veins ; 
A  spring,  exhaustless  as  his  avarice  drew, 
A  stock  that  like  Prometheus'  vitals  grew 
Beneath  the  eternal  beak  his  heart  that  tore, 
Beneath  the  insatiate  thirst  that  drain'd  his  gore. 
Thus,  childless  as  the  Charibbeans  died, 
Afric's  strong  sons  the  ravening  waste  supplied  ; 
Of  hardier  fibre  to  endure  the  yoke, 
And  self-renew'd  beneath  the  severing  stroke ; 
As  grim  oppression  crush'd  them  to  the  tomb, 
Their  fruitful  parent's  miserable  womb 
Teem'd  with  fresh  myriads,  crowded  o'er  the  waves, 
Heirs  to  their  toil,  their  sufferings,  and  their  graves. 

Freighted  with  curses  was  the  bark  that  bore 
The  spoilers  of  the  west  to  Guinea's  shore  ; 
Heavy  with  groans  of  anguish  blew  the  gales 
That  swell' d  that  fatal  bark's  returning  sails; 
Old  Ocean  shrunk  as  o'er  his  surface  flew 
The  human  cargo  and  the  demon  crew. 
— Thenceforth,  unnurnber'd  as  the  waves  that  roll 
From  sun  to  sun,  or  pass  from  pole  to  pole, 
Outcasts  and  exiles,  from  their  country  torn, 
In  floating  dungeons  o'er  the  gulf  were  borne; 
— The  valiant,  seized  in  peril-daring  fight; 
The  weak,  surprised  in  nakedness  and  night; 
Subjects  by  mercenary  despots  sold  ; 
Victims  of  justice  prostitute  for  gold  ; 
Brothers  by  brothers,  friends  by  friends  betray'd ; 
Snared  in  her  lover's  arms  the  trusting  maid ; 


THE    WEST    INDIES. 


The  faithful  wife  by  her  false  lord  estranged, 
For  one  wild  cup  of  drunken  bliss  exchanged; 
From  the  brute-mother's  knee,  the  infant  boy, 
Kidnapp'd  in  slumber,  barter'd  for  a  toy; 
The  father,  resting  at  his  father's  tree, 
Doom'd  by  the  son  to  die  beyond  the  sea: 
—All  bonds  of  kindred,  law,  alliance  broke, 
All  ranks,  all  nations  crouching  to  the  yoke  ; 
From  fields  of  light,  unshadow'd  climes,  that  lie 
Panting  beneath  the  sun's  meridian  eye; 
From  hidden  Ethiopia's  utmost  land  ; 
From  Zaara's  fickle  wilderness  of  sand; 
From  Congo's  blazing  plains  and  blooming  woods; 
From  Whidah's  hills,  that  gush  with  golden  floods; 
Captives  of  tyrant  power  and  dastard  wiles, 
Dispeopled  Africa,  and  gorged  the  isles. 
Loud  and  perpetual  o'er  the  Atlantic  waves, 
For  guilty  ages,  roll'd  the  tide  of  slaves; 
A  tide  that  knew  no  fall,  no  turn,  no  rest, 
Constant  as  day  and  night  from  east  to  west; 
Slill  widening,  deepening,  swelling  in  its  course, 
With  boundless  ruin  and  resistless  force. 

Quickly,  by  Spain's  alluring  fortune  fired, 
With  hopes  of  fame,  and  dreams  of  wealth  inspired, 
Europe's  dread  powers  from  ignominious  ease 
Started  ;  their  pennons  stream'd  on  every  breeze: 
And  still  where'er  the  wide  discoveries  spread, 
The  cane  was  planted,  and  the  native  bled  ; 
While,  nursed  by  fiercer  suns,  of  nobler  race, 
The  negro  toil'd  and  perish'd  in  his  place. 

First,  Lusitania, — she  whose  prows  had  borne 
Her  arms  triumphant  round  the  car  of  morn, 
— Turn'd  to  the  setting  sun  her  bright  array, 
And  hung  her  trophies  o'er  the  couch  of  day. 

Holland, — whose  hardy  sons  roll'd  back  the  sea. 
To  build  the  halcyon-nest  of  liberty, 
Shameless  abroad  the  enslaving  flag  unfurl'd, 
And  reign'd  a  despot  in  the  younger  world. 


92  THE    WEST    INDIES. 


Denmark, — whose  roving  hordes,  in  barbarous  times, 
Fill'd  the  wide  North  with  piracy  and  crimes, 
Awed  every  shore,  and  taught  their  keels  to  sweep 
O'er  every  sea,  the  Arabs  of  the  deep, 
— Embark'd,  once  more  to  western  conquest  led 
By  Rollo's  spirit,  risen  from  the  dead. 

Gallia, — who  vainly  aim'd,  in  depth  of  night, 
To  hurl  old  Rome  from  herTarpeian  height, 
(But  lately  laid,  with  unprevented  blow, 
The  thrones  of  kings,  the  hopes  of  freedom  low,) 
— Rush'd  o'er  the  theatre  of  splendid  toils, 
To  brave  the  dangers  and  divide  the  spoils. 

Britannia, — she  who  scathed  the  crest  of  Spain, 
And  won  the  trident  sceptre  of  the  main, 
When  to  the  raging  wind  and  ravening  tide 
She  gave  the  huge  Armada's  scatter'd  pride, 
Smit  by  the  thunder-wielding  hand  that  hurl'd 
Her  vengeance  round  the  wave-encircled  world; 
— Britannia  shared  the  glory  and  the  guilt, — 
By  her  were  slavery's  island-altars  built, 
And  fed  with  human  victims ;— while  the  cries 
Of  blood  demanding  vengeance  from  the  skies, 
Assail'd  her  traders'  grovelling  hearts  in  vain, 
— Hearts  dead  to  sympathy,  alive  to  gain, 
Hard  from  impunity,  with  avarice  cold, 
Sordid  as  earth,  insensible  as  gold. 

Thus  through  a  night  of  ages,  in  whose  shade 
The  sons  of  darkness  plied  the  infernal  trade, 
Wild  Africa  beheld  her  tribes,  at  home, 
In  battle  slain  ;  abroad,  condemn'd  to  roam 
O'er  the  salt  waves,  in  stranger-isles  to  bear, 
(Forlorn  of  hope,  and  sold  into  despair,) 
Through  life's  slpw  journey,  to  its  dolorous  close, 
Unseen,  unwept,  unutterable  woes. 


THE    WEST    INDIES.  93 


PART  III. 

ARGUMENT.—  The  Love  of  Country,  and  of  Home,  the  same  in  all  Jiges  and  among 
all  Nations — The  Negro's  Home  and  Country — Mango  Park — Prepress  of  the 
Slave  Trade— The  Middle  Passage— The  Jfegro  in  tlie  West  Indies— T/tc  Guinea 
Captain — The  Creole  Planter— The  Muors  of  Barltary — Buccaneers — Maroons- 
St.  Domingo — Hurricanes — The  Yellow  Fever. 

THERE  is  a  land,  of  every  land  the  pride, 

Beloved  by  Heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside; 

Where  brighter  suns  dispense  serener  light, 

And  milder  moons  emparadise  the  night; 

A  land  of  beauty,  virtue,  valour,  truth, 

Time-tutor'd  age,  and  love-exalted  youth  ; 

The  wandering  mariner,  whose  eye  explores 

The  wealthiest  isles,  the  most  enchanting  shores, 

Views  not  a  realm  so  bountiful  and  fair, 

Nor  breathes  the  spirit  of  a  purer  air; 

In  every  clime  the  magnet  of  his  soul, 

Touch'd  by  remembrance,  trembles  to  that  pole  ; 

For  in  this  land  of  Heaven's  peculiar  grace, 

The  heritage  of  nature's  noblest  race, 

There  is  a  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest, 

A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest, 

Where  man,  creation's  tyrant,  casts  aside 

His  sword  and  sceptre,  pageantry  and  pride, 

While  in  his  soften'd  looks  benignly  blend 

The  sire,  the  son,  the  husband,  brother,  friend : 

Here  woman  reigns ;  the  mother,  daughter,  wife, 

Strews  with  fresh  flowers  the  narrow  way  of  life; 

In  the  clear  heaven  of  her  delightful  eye, 

An  angel-guard  of  loves  and  graces  lie ; 

Around  her  knees  domestic  duties  meet, 

An'l  fire-side  pleasures  gambol  at  her  feet. 

«  Where  shall  that  /an/,  that  spot  of  earth  be  found  ?" 

Art  thou  a  man  ? — a  patriot  ? — look  around  ; 

Oh,  thou  shall  find,  howeYr  thy  footsteps  roam, 

That  land  thy  country,  and  that  spot  thy  home! 


01  .  THE    WEST    INDIES. 


On  Greenland's  rocks,  o'er  rude  Kamschatka's  plains, 
In  pale  Siberia's  desolate  domains; 
When  the  wild  hunter  takes  his  lonely  way, 
Tracks  through  tempestuous  sno\vs  his  savage  prey, 
The  reindeer's  spoil,  the  ermine's  treasure  shares, 
And  feasts  his  famine  on  the  fat  of  bears  ; 
Or,  wrestling  with  the  might  of  raging  seas, 
Where  round  the  pole  the  eternal  billows  freeze, 
Plucks  from  their  jaws  the  stricken  whale,  in  vain 
Plunging  down  headlong  through  the  whirling  main  ; 
— His  wastes  of  ice  are  lovelier  in  his  eye 
Than  all  the  flowery  vales  beneath  the  sky; 
And  dearer  far  than  Caesar's  palace-dome, 
His  cavern-shelter,  and  his  cottage-horne. 

O'er  China's  garden-fields  and  peopled  floods; 
In  California's  pathless  world  of  woods; 
Round  Andes'  heights,  where  Winter,  from  his  throne. 
Looks  down  in  scorn  upon  the  summer  zone ; 
By  the  gay  borders  of  Bermuda's  isles, 
Where  spring  with  everlasting  verdure  smiles; 
On  pure  Madeira's  vine-robed  hills  of  health; 
In  Java's  swamps  of  pestilence  and  wealth  ; 
Where  Babel  stood,  Where  wolves  and  jackals  drink, 
Midst  weeping  willows,  on  Euphrates'  brink; 
On  Carmel's  crest;  by  Jordan's  reverend  stream, 
Where  Canaan's  glories  vanish'd  like  a  dream  ; 
Where  Greece,  a  spectre,  haunts  her  heroes'  graves 
And  Rome's  vast  ruins  darken  Tiber's  waves; 
Where  broken-hearted  Switzerland  bewails 
Her  subject  mountains  and  dishonour'd  vales ; 
Where  Albion's  rocks  exult  amidst  the  sea, 
Around  the  beauteous  isle  of  liberty; 
— Man,  through  all  ages  of  revolving  time, 
Unchanging  man,  in  every  varying  clime, 
Deems  his  own  land  of  every  land  the  pride, 
Beloved  by  Heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside; 
His  home  the  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest, 
A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest. 


THE    WEST    INDIES.  89 

And  is  the  Negro  outlaw'd  from  his  birth  ? 
Is  he  alone  a  stranger  on  the  earth  ? 
Is  there  no  shed,  whose  peeping  roof  appears 
So  lovely  that  it  fills  his  eyes  with  tears  ? 
No  land,  whose  name,  in  exile  heard,  will  dart 
Ice  through  his  veins,  and  lightning  through  his  heart? 
Ah!  yes;  beneath  the  beams  of  brighter  skies, 
His  home  amidst  his  father's  country  lies; 
There  with  the  partner  of  his  soul  he  shares 
Love-mingled  pleasures,  love-divided  cares: 
There  as  with  nature's  warmest  filial  fire, 
He  soothes  his  blind,  and  feeds  his  helpless  sire  ; 
His  children  sporting  round  his  hut  behold 
How  they  shall  cherish  him  when  he  is  old, 
Train'd  by  example  from  their  tenderest  youth 
To  deeds  of  charity  and  words  of  truth.4 
— Is  he  not  blest  ?     Behold,  at  closing  day, 
The  negro-village  swarms  abroad  to  play; 
He  treads  the  dance  through  all  its  rapturous  rounds, 
To  the  wild  music  of  barbarian  sounds; 
Or,  stretch'd  at  ease,  where  broad  palmettos  shower 
Delicious  coolness  in  his  shadowy  bower, 
He  feasts  on  tales  of  witchcraft,  that  give  birth 
To  breathless  wonder,  or  ecstatic  mirth  : 
Yet  most  delighted,  when,  in  rudest  rhymes 
The  minstrel  wakes  the  song  of  elder  times, 
When  men  were  heroes,  slaves  to  beauty's  charms, 
And  all  the  joys  of  life  were  love  and  arms. 
— Is  not  the  Negro  blest  ?     His  generous  soil 
With  harvest-plenty  crowns  his  simple  toil ; 
More  than  his  wants  his  flocks  and  fields  afford: 
He  loves  to  greet  the  stranger  at  his  board  : 
"The  winds  were  roaring,  and  the  White  Man  fled, 
The  rains  of  night  descended  on  his  head  ; 
The  poor  White  Man  sat  down  beneath  our  tree, 
Weary  and  faint,  and  far  from  home  was  he  ; 
For  him  no  mother  fills  with  milk  the  bowl. 
No  wife  prepares  the  bread  to  cheer  his  soul; 


96  THE    WEST    INDIES. 


— Pity  the  poor  White  Man  who  sought  our  tree, 

No  wife,  no  mother,  and  no  home  has  he." 

Thus  sang  the  Negro's  daughters ; — once  again, 

Oh  that  the  poor  White  Man  might  hear  that  strain  ! 

— Whether  the  victim  of  the  treacherous  Moor, 

Or  from  the  Negro's  hospitable  door 

Spurn'd  as  a  spy  from  Europe's  hateful  clime, 

And  left  to  perish  for  thy  country's  crime  ; 

Or  destined  still,  when  all  thy  wanderings  cease, 

On  Albion's  lovely  lap  to  rest  in  peace  ; 

Pilgrim  !  in  heaven  or  earth,  where'er  thou  be, 

Angels  of  rnercy  guide  and  comfort  thee  ! 

Thus  lived  the  Negro  in  his  native  land, 
Till  Christian  cruisers  anchor'd  on  his  strand: 
Where'er  their  grasping  arms  the  spoilers  spread, 
The  Negro's  joys,  the  Negro's  virtues  fled; 
Till,  far  amidst  the  wilderness  unknown, 
They  flourish'd  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  alone  : 
While  from  the  coast,  with  wide  and  wider  sweep 
The  race  of  Mammon  dragg'd  across  the  deep 
Their  sable  victims,  to  that  western  bourn, 
From  which  no  traveller  might  e'er  return, 
To  blazon  in  the  ears  of  future  slaves 
The  se.crets  of  the  world  beyond  the  waves. 

When  the  loud  trumpet  of  eternal  doom 
Shall  break  the  mortal  bondage  of  the  tomb  , 
When  with  a  mother's  pangs  the  expiring  earth 
Shall  bring  her  children  forth  to  second  birth ; 
Then  shall  the  sea's  mysterious  caverns,  spread 
With  human  relics,  render  up  their  dead : 
Though  warm  with  life  the  heaving  surges  glow 
Where'er  the  winds  of  heaven  were  wont  to  blow 
In  sevenfold  phalanx  shall  the  rallying  hosts 
Of  ocean  slumberers  join  their  wandering  ghosts, 
Along  the  melancholy  gulf,  that  roars 
From  Guinea  to  the  Charibbean  shores, 
Myriads  of  slaves,  that  perish'd  on  the  way, 
From  age  to  age  the  shark's  appointed  prey, 


THE   WEST   INDIES.  97 

By  livid  plagues,  by  lingering  tortures  slain, 
Or  headlong  plunged  alive  into  the  main, 
Shall  rise  in  judgment  from  their  gloomy  beds, 
And  call  down  vengeance  on  ^heir  murderers'  heads 

Yet  small  the  number,  and  the  fortune  blest, 
Of  those  who  in  the  stormy  deep  found  rest, 
Weigh'd  with  the  unremember'd  millions  more, 
That  'scaped  the  sea  to  perish  on  the  shore, 
By  the  slow  pangs  of  solitary  care, 
The  earth-devouring  anguish  of  despair, 
The  broken  heart,  which  kindness  never  heals, 
The  home-sick  passion  which  the  Negro  feels, 
When  toiling,  fainting  in  the  land  of  canes, 
His  spirit  wanders  to  his  native  plains ; 
His  little  lovely  dwelling  there  he  sees, 
Beneath  the  shade  of  his  paternal  trees, 
The  home  of  comfort : — then  before  his  eyes 
The  terrors  of  captivity  arise. 
— 'Twas  night: — his  babes  around  him  lay  at  rest, 
Their  mother  slumber'd  on  their  father's  breast : 
A  yell  of  murder  rang  around  their  bed  ; 
They  woke  ;  their  cottage  blazed  ;  the  victims  fled  ; 
Forth  sprang  the  ambush'd  ruffians  on  their  prey, 
They  caught,  they  bound,  they  drove  them  far  away; 
The  white  man  bought  them  at  the  mart  of  blood ; 
In  pestilential  barks  they  cross'd  the  flood  ; 
Then  were  the  wretched  ones  asunder  torn, 
To  distant  isles,  to  separate  bondage  borne, 
Denied,  though  sought  with  tears,  the  sad  relief 
That  misery  loves, — tha  fellowship  of  grief. 
The  Negro,  spoil'd  of  all  that  nature  gave 
To  freeborn  man,  thus  shrunk  into  a  slave, 
His  passive  limbs,  to  measured  tasks  confined, 
Obey'd  the  impulse  of  another  mind  ; 
A  silent,  secret,  terrible  control, 
That  ruled  his  sinews,  and  repress'd  his  soul 
Not  for  himself  he  waked  at  morning-light, 
Toil'd  the  long  day,  and  sought  repose  at  night; 


VOL.  I. 


98  THE    WEST    INDIES. 


His  rest,  his  labour,  pastime,  strength,  and  health, 
Were  only  portions  of  a  master's  wealth; 
His  love — oh,  name  not  love,  where  Britons  doom 
The  fruit  of  love  to  slavery  from  the  womb  ! 

Thus  spurn'd,  degraded,  trampled,  and  oppress'd, 
The  Negro-exile  languish'd  in  the  West, 
With  nothing  left  of  life  but  hated  breath 
And  not  a  hope  except  the  hope  in  death,  * 
To  fiy  for  ever  from  the  Creole-strand, 
And  dwell  a  freeman  in  his  father-land. 

Lives  there  a  savage  ruder  than  the  slave  ? 
— Cruel  as  death,  insatiate  as  the  grave, 
False  as  the  winds  that  round  his  vessel  blow, 
Remorseless  as  the  gulf  that  yawns  below, 
Is  he  who  toils  upon  the  wafting  flood, 
A  Christian  broker  in  the  trade  of  blood  ; 
Boisterous  in  speech,  in  action  prompt  and  bold, 
He  buys,  he  sells, — he  steals,  he  kills,  for  gold 
At  noon,  when  sky  and  ocean,  calm  and  clear, 
Bend  round  his  bark,  one  blue  unbroken  sphere ; 
When  dancing  dolphins  sparkle  through  the  brine, 
And  sunbeam  circles  o'er  the  waters  shine : 
He  sees  no  beauty  in  the  heaven  serene, 
No  soul-enchanting  sweetness  in  the  scene, 
But,  darkly  scowling  at  the  glorious  day, 
Curses  the  winds  that  loiter  on  their  way. 
When  swoln  with  hurricanes  the  billows  rise, 
To  meet  the  lightning  midwa-y  from  the  skies ; 
When  from  the  unburden'd  hold  his  shrieking  slaves? 
Are  cast,  at  midnight,  to  the  hungry  waves; 
Not  for  his  victims  strangled  in  the  deeps, 
Not  for  his  crimes  the  harden'd  pirate  weeps, 
But  grimly  smiling,  when  the  storm  is  o'er, 
Counts  his  sure  gains,  and  hurries  back  for  more 

Lives  there  a  reptile  baser  than  the  slave  ? 
— Loathsome  as  death,  corrupted  as  the  grave, 
See  the  dull  Creole,  at  his  pompous  board, 
Attendant  vassals  cringing  round  their  lord  * 


THE    WEST    INDIES.  9?- 


Satiate  with  food,  his  heavy  eyelids  close, 

Voluptuo'us  minions  fan  him  to  repose ; 

Prone  on  the  noonday  couch  he  lolls  in  vain, 

Delirious  slumbers  rock  his  maudlin  brain; 

He  starts  in  horror  from  bewildering  dreams; 

His  bloodshot  eye  with  fire  and  frenzy  gleams : 

He  stalks  abroad  ;  through  all  his  wonted  rounds, 

The  Negro  trembles,  and  the  lash  resounds, 

And  cries  of  anguish,  shrilling  through  the  air, 

To  distant  fields  his  dread  approach  declare. 

Mark,  as  he  passes,  every  head  declined ; 

Then  slowly  raised, — to  curse  him  from  behind. 

This  is  the  veriest  wretch  on  nature's  face, 

Own'd  by  no  country,  spurn'd  by  every  race ; 

The  tether'd  tyrant  of  one  narrow  span, 

The  bloated  vampire  of  a  living  man  ; 

His  frame, — a  fungous  form,  of  dunghill  birth, 

That  taints  the  air,  and  rots  above  the  earth ; 

His  soul ; — has  he  a  soul,  whose  sensual  breast 

Of  selfish  passions  is  a  serpent's  nest  ? 

Who  follows,  headlong,  ignorant,  and  blind, 

The  vague,  brute  instinct  of  an  idiot  mind  ; 

Whose  heart  midst  scenes  of  suffering  senseless  grown, 

E'en  from  his  mother's  lap  was  chill'd  to  stone ; 

Whose  torpid  pulse  no  social  feelings  move  ; 

A  stranger  to  the  tenderness  of  love, 

His  motley  liaram  charms  his  gloating  eye, 

Where  ebon,  brown,  and  olive  beauties  vie  ; 

His  children,  sprung  alike  from  sloth  and  vice, 

Are  born  his  slaves,  and  loved  at  market  price : 

Has  he  a  soul  ? — With  his  departing  breath, 

A  form  shall  hail  him  at  the  gates  of  death, 

The  spectre  Conscience, — shrieking  through  the  gloom 

"Man,  we  shall  meet  again  beyond  the  tomb." 

O  Africa!  amidst  thy  children's  woes, 
Did  earth  and  heaven  conspire  to  aid  thy  foes? 
No,  thou  hadst  vengeance. — From  thy  northern  shores 
Sallied  the  lawless  corsairs  of  the  Moors, 


IfW  THE    WEST    INDIES. 


And  back  on  Europe's  guilty  nations  hurl'd 
Thy  wrongs  and  sufferings  in  the  sister  world : 
Deep  in  thy  dungeons  Christians  clank'd  their  chains, 
Or  toil'd  and  perish'd  on  thy  parching  plains. 

But  where  thine  offspring  crouch'd  beneath  the  yoke, 
In  heavier  peals  the  avenging  thunder  broke. 
— Leagued  with  rapacious  rovers  of  the  main, 
Hayti's  barbarian  hunters  harass'd  Spain, 
A  mammoth  race,  invincible  in  might, 
Rapine  and  massacre  their  dire  delight, 
Peril  their  element ; — o'er  land  and  flood 
They  carried  fire,  and  quench'd  the  flames  with  blood; 
Despairing  captives  hail'd  them  from  the  coasts ; 
They  rush'd  to  conquest,  led  by  Charib  ghosts. 

Tremble,  Britannia !  while  thine  islands  tell 
The  appalling  mysteries  of  Obi's  spell ; 
The  wild  Maroons,  impregnable  and  free, 
Among  the  mountain-holds  of  liberty, 
Sudden  as  lightning  darted  on  their  foe, 
Seen  like  the  flash,  remember'd  like  the  blow. 

While  Gallia  boasts  of  dread  Marengo's  fight, 
And  Hohenlinden's  slaughter-deluged  night, 
Her  spirit  sinks  ; — the  sinews  of  the  brave 
That  crippled  Europe,  shrunk  before  the  slave; 
The  demon-spectres  of  Domingo  rise, 
And  all  her  triumphs  vanish  from  her  eyes. 

God  is  a  Spirit,  veil'd  from  human  sight, 
In  secret  darkness  of  eternal  light ; 
Through  all  the  glory  of  his  works  we  trace 
The  hidings  of  his  counsel  and  his  face  ; 
Nature,  and  time,  and  change,  and  fate  fulfil, 
Unknown,  unknowing,  his  mysterious  will ; 
Mercies  and  judgments  mark  him,  every  hour, 
Supreme  in  grace,  and  infinite  in  power: 
Oft  o'er  the  Eden-islands  of  thesWest, 
In  floral  pomp  and  verdant  beauty  drest, 
Roll  the  dark  clouds  of  his  awaken'd  ire : 
• — Thunder  and  earthquake,  whirlwind,  flood,  and  fire, 


THE    WEST    INDIES.  105 

And  taught  the  world,  that  while  she  rules  the  waves, 

Her  soil  is  freedom  to  the  feet  of  slaves  : 

— When  Clarkson  his  victorious  course  began, 

Unyielding  in  the  cause  of  God  and  man, 

Wise,  patient,  persevering  to  the  end, 

No  guile  could  thwart,  no  power  his  purpose  bend ; 

He  rose  o'er  Afric  like  the  sun  in  smiles,— 

He  rests  in  glory  on  the  western  isles : 

— When  Wilberforce,  the  minister  of  grace, 

The  new  Las  Casas  of  a  ruin'd  race,8 

With  angel-might  opposed  the  rage  of  hell, 

And  fought  like  Michael,  till  the  dragon  fell : 

— When  Pitt,  supreme  amid  the  senate,  rose 

The  Negro's  friend,  among  the  Negro's  foes; 

Yet  while  his  tones  like  heaven's  hio-h  thunder  broke 

D 

No  fire  descended  to  consume  the  yoke : 

— When  Fox,  all-eloquent,  for  freedom  stood, 

With,  speech  resistless  as  the  voice  of  blood, 

The  voice  that  cries  through  all  the  patriot's  veins, 

When  at  his  feet  his  country  groans  in  chains; 

The  voice  that  whispers  in  the  mother's  breast, 

When  smiles  her  infant  in  his  rosy  rest ; 

Of  power  to  bid  the  storm  of  passion  roll, 

Or  touch  with  sweetest  tenderness  the  soul. 

He  ipake  in  vain  ; — till,  with  his  latest  breath, 

Hejproke  the  spell  of  Africa  in  death. 

The  Muse  to  whom  the  lyre  and  lute  belong, 
Wlfosejsong  of  freedom  is  her  noblest  song, 
The  lyre  with  awful  indignation  swept, 
O'er  the  sweet  lute  in  silent  sorrow  wept, 
— When  Albion's  crimes  drew  thunder  from  her  tongue, 
— When  Afric's  woes  o'envhelm'd  her  while  she  sung. 
Lamented  Cowper !  in  thy  path  I  tread; 
O  !  that  on  me  were  thy  meek  spirit  shed  ! 
The  woes  that  wring  mJTbosom  once  were  thine; 
Be  all  thy  virtues,  all  thy  genius,  mine  ! 
Peace  to  thy  soul !  thy  God  thy  portion  be ; 
And  in  his  presence  may  I  rest  with  thee  ! 


106  THE    WEST    INDIES. 


Gluick  at  the  call  of  Virtue,  Freedom,  Truth, 
Weak  withering  Age  and  strong  aspiring  Youth 
Alike  the  expanding  power  of  Pity  felt; 
The  coldest,  hardest  hearts  began  to  melt ; 
From  breast  to  breast  the  flame  of  justice  glow'd; 
Wide  o'er  its  banks  the  Nile  of  mercy  flow'd  ; 
Through  all  the  isle  the  gradual  waters  swell'd ; 
Mammon  in  vain  the  encircling  flood  repell'd  ; 
O'erthrown  at  length,  like  Pharaoh  and  his  host, 
His  shipwreck'd  hopes  lay  scatter'd  round  the  coast. 

High  on  her  rock  in  solitary  state, 
Sublimely  musing,  pale  Britannia  sate; 
Her  awful  forehead  on  her  spear  reclined, 
Her  robe  and  tresses  streaming  with  the  wind  ; 
Chill  through  her  frame  foreboding  tremors  crept ; 
The  Mother  thought  upon  her  sons,  and  wept : 
— She  thought  of  Nelson  in  the  battle  slain, 
And  his  last  signal  beaming  o'er  the  main  ;* 
In  Glory's  circling  arms  the  hero  bled, 
While  Victory  bound  the  laurel  on  his  head; 
At  once  immortal,  in  both  worlds,  became 
His  soaring  spirit  and  abiding  name  ; 
— She  thought  of  Pitt,  heart-broken  on  his  bier ; 
And,  "  O  my  country  !"  echoed  in  her  ear  ; 
— She  thought  of  Fox ; — she  heard  him  faintly  speak, 
His  parting  breath  grew  cold  upon  her  cheek, 
His  dying  accents  trembled  into  air; 
"  Spare  injured  Africa  !  the  Negro  spare  !" 

She  started  from  her  trance  ! — and  round  the  shore, 
Beheld  her  supplicating  sons  once  more 
Pleading  the  suit  so  long,  so  vainly  tried, 
Renew'd,  resisted,  promised,  pledged,  denied, 
The  Negro's  claim  to  all  his  Maker  gave, 
And  all  the  tyrant  ravish'd  from  the  slave. 
Her  yielding  heart  confess'd  the  righteous  claim, 
Sorrow  had  soften'd  it,  and  love  o'ercame  ; 

*  "England  expects  every  man  to  do  his  duty." 


THE    WEST    INDIES.  I<T7 


Shame  flush'd  her  noble  cheek,  her  bosom  burn'd  ; 
To  helpless,  hopeless  Africa  she  turn'd ; 
She  saw  her  sister  in  the  mourner's  face, 
And  rush'd  with  tears  into  her  dark  embrace  : 
"  All  hail !"  exclaim'd  the  empress  of  the  sea, — 
"Thy  chains  are  broken — Africa,  be  free  !" 

Muse  !  take  the  harp  of  prophecy  : — behold  ! 
The  glories  of  a  brighter  age  unfold : 
Friends  of  the  outcast !  view  the  accomplished  plan, 
The  Negro  towering  to  the  height  of  man. 
The  blood  of  Romans,  Saxons,  Gauls,  and  Danes, 
SwelPd  the  rich  fountain  of  the  Briton's  veins; 
Unmingled  streams  a  warmer  life  impart, 
And  quicker  pulses  to  the  Negro's  heart: 
A  dusky  race,  beneath  the  evening  sun, 
Shall  blend  their  spousal  currents  into  one : 
Is  beauty  bound  to  colour,  shape,  or  air? 
No ;  God  created  all  his  offspring  fair : 
Tyrant  and  slave  their  tribes  shall  never  see, 
For  God  created  all  his  offspring  free  ; 
Then  Justice,  leagued  with  Mercy,  from  above, 
Shall  reign  in  all  the  liberty  of  love  ; 
And  the  sweet  shores  beneath  the  balmy  west 
Again  shall  be  "the  islands  of  the  blest." 

Unutterable  mysteries  of  fate 
Involve,  O  Africa  !  thy  future  state. 
—On  Niger's  banks,  in  lonely  beauty  wild, 
A  Negro-mother  carols  to  her  child : 
"  Son  of  my  widow'd  love,  my  orphan  joy ! 
Avenge  thy  father's  murder,  O  my  boy!" 
Along  those  banks  the  fearless  infant  strays, 
Bathes  in  the  stream,  among  the  eddies  plays ; 
See  the  boy  bounding  through  the  eager  race ; 
The  fierce  youth,  shouting  foremost  in  the  chase, 
Drives  the  grim  lion  from  his  ancient  woods, 
And  smites  the  crocodile  amidst  his  floods : 
To  ginnt  strength  in  unshorn  manhood  grown 
He  haunts  the  wilderness,  he  dwells  alone. 


108  THE    WEST    INDIES. 


A  tigress  with  her  whelps  to  seize  him  sprung ; 

He  tears  the  mother,  and  he  tames  the  young 

In  the  drear  cavern  of  their  native  rock : 

Thither  wild  slaves  and  fell  banditti  flock  ; 

He  heads  their  hordes ;  they  burst,  like  torrid  rains. 

In  death  and  devastation  o'er  the  plains; 

Stronger  and  bolder  grows  his  ruffian  band, 

Prouder  his  heart,  more  terrible  his  hand, 

He  spreads  his  banner :  crowding  from  afar, 

Innumerable  armies  rush  to  war; 

Resistless  as  the  pillar' d  whirlwinds  fly 

O'er  Libyan  sands  revolving  to  the  sky, 

In  fire  and  wrath  through  every  realm  they  run, 

Where  the  noon-shadow  shrinks  beneath  the  sun ; 

Till  at  the  Conqueror's  feet,  from  sea  to  sea, 

A  hundred  nations  bow  the  servile  knee, 

And  throned  in  nature's  unreveal'd  domains, 

The  Jenghis  Khan  of  Africa  he  reigns. 

Dim  through  the  night  of  these  tempestuous  years 
A  Sabbath  dawn  o'er  Africa  appears  ; 
Then  shall  her  neck  from  Europe's  yoke  be  freed, 
And  healing  arts  to  hideous  arms  succeed; 
At  home  fraternal  bonds  her  tribes  shall  bind, 
Commerce  abroad  espouse  them  with  mankind ; 
While  Truth  shall  build,  and  pure  Religion  bless, 
The  Church  of  God  amidst  the  wilderness. 

Nor  in  the  isles  and  Africa  alone 
Be  the  Redeemer's  cross  and  triumph  known : 
Father  of  Mercies!  speed  the  promised  hour; 
Thy  kingdom  come  with  all-restoring  power; 
Peace,  virtue,  knowledge,  spread  from  pole  to  pole, 
As  round  the  world  the  ocean-waters  roll ! 
• — Hope  waits  the  morning  of  celestial  light; 
Time  plumes  his  wings  for  everlasting  flight ; 
Unchanging  seasons  have  their  march  begun ; 
Millennial  years  are  hastening  to  the  sun  ; 
Seen  through  thick  clouds,  by  Faith's  transpiercing  eyes, 
The  New  Creation  shines  in  purer  skies. 


THE    WEST    INDIES.  109 


— All  hail ! — the  age  of  crime  and  suffering-  ends  ; 
The  reign  of  righteousness  from  heaven  descends  ; 
Vengeance  for  ever  sheathes  the  afflicting  sword; 
Death  is  destroyed,  and  Paradise  restored 
Man,  rising  from  the  ruins  of  his  fall, 
Is  one  with  Goo,  and  God  is  All  in  All 


PREFACE. 

THERE  is  no  authentic  history  of  the  world  from  the  Creation  to  the  V)elupe, 
oesides  that  which  is  found  in  tiie  first  chanters  of  Genesis.  He,  therefore,  who 
fixes  the  date  of  a  fictitious  narrative  within  that  period,  is  under  obligation  to 
no  other  authority  whatever  for  conformity  of  manners,  events,  or  even  locali- 
ties :  he  has  full  power  to  accommodate  these  to  his  peculiar  purposes,  observ- 
ing only  such  analogy  as  shall  consist  with  the  brief  information,  contained  in 
the  sacred  records,  concerning  mankind  in  the  earliest  ages.  The  present  writer 
acknowledses,  that  he  has  exercised  this  undoubted  right  with  great  free- 
dom. Success  alone  sanctions  hold  innovation  ;  if  he  has  succeeded  in  what  he 
has  attempted,  he  will  need  no  arguments  to  justify  it;  if  he  has  miscarried, 
none  will  avail  him.  Those  who  imagine  that  he  has  exhibited  the  antedilu- 
vians as  more  skilful  in  arts  and  arms  than  can  be  supposed,  in  their  stage  of 
society,  may  read  the  Eleventh  Book  of  PARADISE  LOST;— and  those  who  think 
he  has  made  ihe  religion  of  the  Patriarchs  too  evangelical,  may  read  the  Twelfth. 

With  respect  to  the  personaees  and  incidents  of  his  story,  the  Author  having 
deliberately  adopted  them,  under  the  conviction,  that  in  the  characters  of  the 
one  he  was  not  stepping  out  of  human  nature,  and  in  the  construction  of  the 
other  not  exceeding  the  limits  of  poetical  probability, — he  asks  no  favour,  he 
deprecates  no  censure,  on  behalf  of  either ;  nor  shall  the  facility  with  which 
"much  malice  and  a  little  wit"  might  turn  into  ridicule  every  line  that  he  has 
written,  deter  him  from  leaving  the  whole  to  the  mercy  of  general  Readers. 

Hut,— here  is  a  large  web  of  "fiction  involving  a  small  fact  of  Scripture  !  No- 
thing could  justify  a  work  of  this  kind,  if  it  were,  in  any  way,  calculated  tc 
impose  on  the  credulity,  pervert  the  principles,  or  corrupt  the  affections  of  its 
approvers.  Here,  then,  the  appeal  lies  to  conscience  rather  than  to  taste,  and 
the  decision  on  this  point  is  of  infinitely  more  importance  to  the  Poet  than  his 
name  among  men,  or  his  interests  on  earth.  It  was  his  design,  in  this  compo- 
sition, to  present  a 'similitude  of  events,  that  might  be  imagined  to  have  hap- 
pened in  the  first  age  of  the  world,  in  which  such  Scripture-characters  as  are 
introduced  would  probably  have  acted  and  spoken  as  they  are  here  made  to  act 
and  speak.  The  story  is  told  as  a  parable  only;  and  Its  value.  In  «his  view, 
must  be  determined  by  its  moral,  or  rather  by  its  religious,  influence  on  the 
mind  and  on  the  heart.  Fiction  though  it  be,  it  is  th  :  fiction  that  represents 
Truth;  and  that  is  Truth, — Truth  in  the  essence,  though  not  in  the  name; 
Truth  in  the  spirit,  though  not  in  the  letter. 


No  place  having  been  found,  in  Asia,  to  correspond  exactly  with  the  Mosaic 
description  of  the~site  of  Paradise,  the  Author  has  disregarded  both  the  learned 
and  the  absurd  hypotheses  on  the  subject;  and  at  once  imagining  an  inaccessi- 
ble tract  of  land,  at  the  confluence  of  four  rivers,  which  after  their  junction  take 
the  name  of  the  largest,  and  become  the  Euphrates  of  the  ancient  world,  he  has 
placed  "the  happy  garden"  there.  Milton's  noble  fiction  of  the  Md'unt  of  Para- 
dise being  removed  by  the  Deluge,  and  push'd 

"  Down  the  great  river  to  the  opening  gulf." 

and  there  converted  into  a  barren  isle,  implies  such  a  change  in  th<;  water- 
courses as  will,  poetically  at  least,  account  for  ihe  difference  between  tlie  scene 
of  this  story  and  the  present  fice  of  the  country  at  the  point  where  the  Tigris 
and  Euphrates  meet.  On  the  eastern  side  of  these  waters,  the  Author  supposes 
the  descendants  of  the  younger  children  of  Adam  to  dwell,  possessing  the  land 
of  Eden:  the  rest  of  the  world  having  been  gradually  colonized  by  emigrants 
from  these,  or  peopled  by  the  posterity  of  Cain.  In  process  of  time,  after  the 
Sons  of  God  had  formed  connections  with  the  daughters  of  men,  and  there  were 
Giants  in  the  earth,  the  latter  assumed  to  be  Lords  and  Rulers  over  mankind, 
till  among  themselves  arose  One,  excelling  all  his  brethren  in  knowledge  and 
power,  who  became  their  King,  and  by  their  aid,  in  the  course  of  a  long  life, 
subdued  all  the  inhabited  earth,  except  the  land  of  Eden.  This  land,  at  ihe 
head  of  a  mighty  army,  principally  composed  of  the  descendants  of  Cain,  he 
has  invaded  and  conquered,  even  to  the  hanks  of  Euphrates,  at  the  opening  of 
the  action  of  the  Poem.  It  is  only  necessary  to  add,  that,  for  the  sake  of  dis- 
tinction, the  invaders  are  frequently  denominated  from  Cain,  as  "the  host  of 
Cain," — "the  force  of  Cain," — "the  camp  of  Cain  ;"— and  the  remnant  of  the 
defenders  of  Eden  are,  in  like  manner,  denominated  from  Eden. — The  Jews 
have  an  ancient  tradition,  that  some  of  the  Giants,  at  the  Deluge,  fled  to  the 
top  of  a  high  mountain,  and  escaped  the  ruin  that  involved  the  rest  of  their 
kindred.  In  the  tenth  Canto  of  the  following  Poem,  a  hint  is  borrowed  from 
this  tradition,  but  it  is  made  to  yield  to  the  superior  authority  of  Scripture- 
testimony. 
1813. 

110 


THE 

WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 

A   POEM,   IN  TEN    CANTOS. 


TO    THE  SPIRIT  OF  A  DEPARTED  FRIEND.* 


MANY,  my  friend,  have  mourn'd  for  Thee, 

And  yet  shall  many  mourn, 
Long  as  thy  name  on  earth  shall  be 

In  sweet  remembrance  borne, 
By  those  who  loved  Thee  here,  and  love 
Thy  spirit  still  in  realms  above. 

For  while  thine  absence  they  deplore, 

'Tis  for  themselves  they  weep : 
Though  they  behold  thy  face  no  more, 

In  peace  thine  ashes  sleep, 
And  o'er  the  tomb  they  lift  their  eye, 
—Thou  art  not  dead,  Thou  couldst  not  die. 

In  silent  anguish,  O  my  friend ! 

When  I  recall  thy  worth, 
Thy  lovely  life,  thine  early  end, 

I  feel  estranged  from  earth ; 
My  soul  with  thine  desires  to  rest, 
Supremely  and  for  ever  blest. 

In  loftier  mood  I  fain  would  raise 

With  my  victorious  breath 
Some  fair  memorial  of  thy  praise, 

Beyond  the  reach  of  Death ; 
Proud  wish,  and  vain  ! — I  cannot  give 
The  word,  that  makes  the  dead  to  live. 

Tnou.art  not  dead,  Thou  couldst  not  die; 
To  nobler  life  new-born, 

•  Dnnlel  Parken,  Eiq.,  of  Lincoln'*  Inn,  a  friend  tn  whose  critical  tnnlc  Mr. 
MonfRxmery  nrknnwledgpi  hinmelf  to  have  been  Indebted  while  writing  The 
We«t  1ii.li.-«,  »nd  thn  earlier  parli  of  ibis  poem.  He  died  before  The  World  be- 
fore the  Flood  wa«  finished. 

10*  TO 


114  .  THE   WORLD   BEFORE    THE   FLOOD. 

Thou  look'st  in  pity  from  the  sky 

Upon  a  world  forlorn, 
Where  glory  is  but  dying  flame, 
And  immortality  a  name. 

Yet  didst  Thou  prize  the  Poet's  art; 

And  when  to  Thee  I  sung, 
How  pure,  how  fervent  from  the  heart, 

The  language  of  thy  tongue! 
In  praise  or  blame  alike  sincere, 
But  still  most  kind  when  most  severe. 

When  first  this  dream  of  ancient  times 
Warm  on  my  fancy  glow'd, 

And  forth  in  rude  spontaneous  rhymes 
The  Song  of  Wonder  flow'd  ; 

Pleased  but  alarm'd,  I  saw  Thee  stand 

And  check'd  the  fury  of  my  hand. 

That  hand  with  awe  resumed  the  lyre, 
I  trembled,  doubted,  fear'd, 

Then  did  thy  voice- my  hope  inspire, 
My  soul  thy  presence  cheer'd  ; 

But  suddenly  the  light  was  flown, 

I  look'd,  and  found  myself  alone. 

Mone,  in  sickness,  care,  and  wo, 

Since  that  bereaving  day, 
With  heartless  patience,  faint  and  low, 

I  trill'd  the  secret  lay, 
Vfraid  to  trust  the  bold  design 
To  less  indulgent  ears  than  thine. 

'Tis  done; — nor  would  I  dread  to  meet 
The  World's  repulsive  brow, 

Had  I -presented  at  thy  feet 
The  Muse's  trophy  now, 

And  gain'd  the  smile  I  long'd  to  gain, 

The  pledge  of  labour  not  in  vain. 


II — 


TO    THE    SPIRIT   OF   A    DEPARTED    FRIEND.  .113 

Full  well  I  know,  if  Thou  wert  here, 

A  pilgrim  still  with  me, — 
Dear  as  my  theme  was  once,  and  dear 

As  I  was  once  to  Thee, — 
Too  mean  to  yield  Thee  pure  delight, 
The  strains  that  now  the  world  invite. 

Yet  could  they  reach  Thee  where  Thou  art. 

And  sounds  might  spirits  move, 
.  Their  better,  their  diviner  part 

Thou  surely  wouldst  approve ; 
Though  heavenly  thoughts  are  all  thy  joy. 
And  angel-songs  thy  tongue  employ. 

My  task  is  o'er ;  and  I  have  wrought 

With  self-rewarding  toil 
To  raise  the  scatter'd  seed  of  thought 

Upon  a  desert  soil : 

0  for  soft  winds  and  clement  showers! 

1  seek  not  fruit,  I  planted  flowers. 

Those  flowers  I  train'd,  of  many  a  hue, 

Along  thy  path  to  bloom, 
And  little  thought  that  1  must  strew 

Their  leaves  upon  thy  tomb: 
— Beyond  that  tomb  I  lift  mine  eye, 
Thou  art  not  dead,  Thou  couldst  not  die. 

Farewell,  but  not  a  long  farewell ; 

In  heaven  may  I  appear, 
The  trials  of  my  faith  to  tell 

In  thy  transported  ear, 
And  sing  with  Thee  the  eternal  strain, 
"  Worthy  the  Lamb  that  once  wa3  slain.1 

SkrffitU,  January  23,  1813. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


CANTO  FIRST. 

The  Invasion  of  Eden  ty  the  Descendants  of  Cain — The  Flight  ofJavan  from  the 
Camp  of  the  Invaders  to  the  Valley  where  the  Patriarchs  dwelt — The  Story  of 
Javan's  former  Life. 

EASTWARD  of  Eden's  early  peopled  plain, 

When  Abel  perish'd  by  the  hand  of  Cain, 

The  murderer  from  his  Judge's  presence  fled  : 

Thence  to  the  .rising  sun  his  offspring  spread  ; 

But  he,  the  fugitive  of  care  and  guilt, 

Forsook  the  haunts  he  chose,  the  homes  he  built ; 

While  filial  nations  hail'd  him  Sire  and  Chief, 

Empire  nor  honour  brought  his  soul  relief; 

He  found,  where'er  he  roam'd,  uncheer'd,  unblest, 

No  pause  from  suffering,  and  from  toil  no  rest. 

Ages,  meanwhile,  as  ages  now  are  told, 
O'er  the  young  world  in  long  succession  roll'd ; 
For  such  the  vigour  of  primeval  man, 
Through  number'd  centuries  his  period  ran, 
And  the  first  Parents  saw  their  hardy  race, 
O'er  the  green  wilds  of  habitable  space, 
By  tribes  and  kindred,  scatter'd  wide  and  far, 
Beneath  the  track  of  every  varying  star. 
But,  as  they  multiplied  from  clime  to  clime, 
Embolden'd  by  their  elder  brother's  crime, 
They  spurn'd  obedience  to  the  Patriarch's  yoke, 
The  bonds  of  Nature's  fellowship  they  broke ; 
The  weak  became  the  victims  of  the  strong, 
And  Earth  was  fill'd  with  violence  and  wrong. 

Yet  long  on  Eden's  fair  and  fertile  plain 
A  righteous  nation  dwelt,  that  knew  not  Cain: 
There  fruits  and  flowers,  in  genial  light  and  dew, 
Luxuriant  vines,  and  golden  harvests  grew; 

m 


118  THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD. 

By  freshening  waters  flocks  and  cattle  stray'd, 
While  youth  and  childhood  watch'd  them  from  the  shade ; 
Age,  at  his  fig-tree,  rested  from  his  toil, 
And  manly  vigour  till'd  the  unfailing  soil ; 
Green  sprang  the  turf,  by  holy  footsteps  trod, 
Round  the  pure  altars  of  the  living  God  ; 
Till  foul  Idolatry  those  altars  stain'd, 
And  lust  and  revelry  through  Eden  reign'd. 
Then  fled  the  people's  glory  and  defence, 
The  joys  of  home,  the  peace  of  innocence ; 
Sin  brought  forth  sorrows  in  perpetual  birth, 
And  the  last  light  from  heaven  forsook  the  earth, 
Save,  in  one  forest-glen,  remote  and  wild, 
Where  yet. a  ray  of  lingering  mercy  smiled, 
Their  quiet  course  where  Seth  and  Enoch  ran, 
And  God  and  angels  deign'd  to  walk  with  man. 
Now  from  the  east,  supreme  in  arts  and  arms, 
The  tribes  of  Cain,  awakening  war-alarms, 
Full  in  the  spirit  of  their  father,  came 
To  waste  their  brethren's  lands  with  sword  and  flame. 
In  vain  the  younger  race  of  Adam  rose, 
With  force  unequal,  to  repel  their  foes  ; 
Their  fields  in  blood,  their  homes  in  ruins  lay, 
Their  whole  inheritance  became  a  prey ; 
The  stars,  to  whom  as  gods  they  raised  their  cry, 
Roll'd,  heedless  of  their  offerings,  through  the  sky; 
Till,  urged  on  Eden's  utmost  bounds  at  length, 
In  fierce  despair,  they  rallied  all  their  strength. 
They  fought,  but  they  were  vanquish'd  in  the  fight, 
Captured,  or  slain,  or  scatter'd  in  the  flight : 
The  morning  battle-scene  at  eve  was  spread 
With  ghastly  heaps,  the  dying  and  the  dead ; 
The  dead  unmourn'd,  unburied  left  to  lie, 
By  friends  and  foes,  the  dying  left  to  die.     . 
The  victim,  while  he  groan'd  his  soul  away, 
Heard  the  gaunt  vulture  hurrying  to  his  prey, 
Then  strengthless  felt  the  ravening  beak,  that  tore 
His  widen'd  wounds,  and  drank  the  living  gore. 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.  118 

One  sole  surviving  remnant,  void  of  fear, 
Woods  in  their  front,  Euphrates  in  their  rear, 
Were  sworn  to  perish  at  a  glorious  cost, 
For  all  they  once  had  known,  and  loved,  and  lost; 
A  small,  a  hrave,  a  melancholy  band, 
The  orphans  and  the  childless  of  the  land. 
The  hordes  of  Cain,  by  giant-chieftains  led, 
Wide  o'er  the  north  their  vast  encampments  spread: 
A  broad  and  sunny  champaign  stretch'd  between ; 
Westward  a  maze  of  waters  girt  the  scene  ; 
There  on  Euphrates,  in  its  ancient  course, 
Three  beauteous  rivers  roll'd  their  confluent  force, 
Whose  streams,  while  man  the  blissful  garden  trod, 
Adorn'd  the  earthly  paradise  of  God  ; 
But  since  he  fell,  within  their  triple  bound, 
Fenced  a  long  region  of  forbidden  ground  ; 
Meeting  at  once,  where  high  athwart  their  bed 
Repulsive  rocks  a  curving  barrier  spread, 
The  embattled  floods,  by  mutual  whirlpools  crost, 
In  hoary  foam  and  surging  mist  were  lost; 
Thence,  like  an  Alpine  cataract  of  snow, 
White  down  the  precipice  they  dash'd  below; 
There,  in  tumultuous  billows  broken  wide, 
They  spent  their  rage,  and  yoked  their  fourfold  tide; 
Through  one  majestic. channel,  calm  and  free, 
The  sister-rivers  sought  the  parent  sea. 

The  midnight  watch  was  ended  ; — down  the  west 
The  glowing  moon  declined  towards  her  rest; 
Through  either  host  the  voice  of  war  was  dumb; 
In  dreams  the  hero  won  the  fight  to  come ; 
No  sound  was  stirring,  save  the  breeze  that  bore 
The  distant  cataract's  everlasting  roar, 
When,  from  the  tents  of  Cain,  a  youth  withdrew; 
Secret  and  swift,  from  post  to  post  he  flew, 
And  pass'd  the  camp  of  Eden,  while  the  dawn 
Gleam'd  faintly  oVr  the  interjacent  lawn  ; 
Skirting  the  forest,  cautiously  and  slow, 
He  fear'd  at  every  step  to  start  a  foe ; 


120  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Oft  leap'd  the  hare  across  his  path,  up  sprung 

The  lark  beneath  his  feet,  and  soaring  sung: 

What  time,  o'er  eastern  mountains  seen  afar, 

With  golden  splendour-rose  the  morning-star, 

As  if  an  Angel-sentinel  of  night, 

From  earth  to  heaven  had  wing'd  his  homeward  flight,- 

Glorious  at  first,  but  lessening  by  the  way, 

And  lost  insensibly  in  higher  day. 

From  track  of  man  and  herd  his  path  he  chose, 
Where  high  the  grass,  and  thick  the  copsewood  rose ; 
Then  by  Euphrates'  banks  his  course  inclined, 
W'here  the  gray  willows  trembled  to  the  wind  ; 
With  toil  and  pain  their  humid  shade  he  clear'd 
When  at  the  porch  of  heaven  the  sun  appear'd, 
Through  gorgeous  clouds  that  streak'd  the  orient  sky, 
And  kindled  into  glory  at  his  eye  ; 
While  dark  amidst  the  dews  that  glitter'd  round, 
From  rock  and  tree,  long  shadows  traced  the  ground. 
Then  climb'd  the  fugitive  an  airy  height, 
And  resting,  back  o'er  Eden  cast  his  sight. 

Far  on  the  left,  to  man  for  ever  closed, 
The  Mount  of  Paradise  in  clouds  reposed : 
The  gradual  landscape  open'd  to  his  view; 
From  Nature's  face  the  veil  of  mist  withdrew, 
And  left,  in  clear  and  purple  light  reveal'd, 
The  radiant  river  and  the  tented  field  ; 
The  black  pine-forest,  in  whose  girdle  lay 
The  patriot  phalanx,  hemm'd  in  close  array; 
THe  verdant  champaign  narrowing  to  the  north, 
Whence  from  their  dusky  quarters  sallied  forth 
The  proud  Invaders,  early  roused  to  fight, 
Tribe  after  tribe  emerging  into  light ; 
Whose  shields  and  lances,  in  the  golden  beams 
Flash' d  o'er  the  restless  scene  their  flickering  gleams, 
As  when  the  breakers  catch  the  morning  glow, 
And  ocean  rolls  in  living  fire  below; 
So,  round  the  unbroken  border  of  the  wood, 
The  Giants  pour'd  their  army  like  a  flood, 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  1S1 

Eager  to  force  the  covert  of  their  foe, 
And  lay  the  last  defence  of  Eden  low. 

From  that  safe  eminence,  absorb'd  in  thought 
Even  till  the  wind  the  shout  of  legions  brought, 
He  gazed, — his  heart  recoil'd, — he  turn'd  his  head, 
And  o'er  the  southern  hills  his  journey  sped. 

Who  was  the  fugitive? — In  infancy 
A  youthful  Mother's  only  hope  was  he, 
Whose  spouse  and  kindred,  on  a  festal  day, 
Precipitate  destruction  swept  away; 
Earth  trembled,  open'd,  and  entomb'd  them  all; 
She  saw  them  sinking,  heard  their  voices  call 
Beneath  the  gulf, — and  agonized,  aghast, 
On  the  wild  verge  of  eddying  ruin  cast, 
Felt  in  one  pang,  at  that  convulsive  close, 
A  Widow's  anguish,  and  a  Mother's  throes: 
A  Babe  sprang  forth,  an  inauspicious  birth, 
Where  all  had  perish'd  that  she  loved  on  earth, 
Forlorn  and  helpless,  on  the  upriven  ground, 
The  parent,  with  her  offspring,  Enoch  found  : 
And  thence  with  tender  care  and  timely  aid, 
Home  to  the  Patriarchs'  glen  his  charge  convey'd. 

.Restored  to  life,  one  pledge  of  former  joy, 
One  source  of  bliss  to  come,  remain'd — her  boy! 
Sweet  in  her  eye  the  cherish'd  infant  rose, 
At  once  the  seal  and  solace  of  her  woes ; 
When  the  pale  widow  clasp'd  him  to  her  breast, 
Warm  gush'd  the  tears,  and  would  not  be  represt ; 
In  lonely  anguish,  when  the  truant  child 
Leap'd  o'er  the  threshold,  all  the  mother  smiled. 
In  him,  while  fond  imagination  view'd 
Husband  and  parents,  brethren,  friends  renew'd, 
Each  vanish'd  look,  each  well-remember'd  grace, 
That  pleased  in  them,  she  sought  in  Javan's  face ; 
For  quick  his  eye  and  changeable  its  ray, 
As  the  sun  glancing  through  a  vernal  day; 
And  like  the  lake,  by  storm  or  moonlight  seen, 
With  darkening  furrows  o'er  cerulean  mien, 

VOL.  iT  11 


1M  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

His  countenance,  the  mirror  of  his  breast, 
The  calm  or  trouble  of  his  soul  express'd. 

As  years  enlarged  his  form,  in  moody  hours 
His  mind  betray'd  its  weakness  with  its  powers; 
Alike  his  fairest  hopes  and  strangest  fears 
Were  nursed  in  silence,  or  divulged  with  tears : 
The  fulness  of  his  heart  repress'd  his  tongue,. 
Though  none  might  rival  Javan  when  he  sung. 
He  loved,  in  lonely  indolence  reclined, 
To  watch  the  clouds  and  listen  to  the  wind, 
But  from  the  north  when  snow  and  tempest  came, 
His  nobler  spirit  mounted  into  flame  ; 
With  stern  delight  he  roam'd  the  howling  woods, 
Or  hung  in  ecstasy  o'er  headlong  floods. 
Meanwhile  excursive  fancy  long'd  to  view 
The  world,  which  yet  by  fame  alone  he  knew ; 
The  joys  of  freedom  were  his  daily  theme, 
Glory  the  secret  of  his  midnight  dream  ; 
That  dream  he  told  not ;  though  his  heart  would  ache, 
His  home  was  precious  for  his  mother's  sake. 
With  her  the  lowly  paths  of  peace  he  ran, 
His  guardian  angel,  till  he  verged  to  man  ; 
But  when  her  weary  eye  could  watch  no  more, 
When  to  the  grave  her  timeless  corse  he  bore, 
Not  Enoch's  counsels  could  his  steps  restrain; 
He  fled,  and  sojourn'd  in  the  land  of  Cain. 
There,  when  he  heard  the  voice  of  Jubal's  lyre, 
Instinctive  genius  caught  the  ethereal  fire  ; 
And  soon,  with  sweetly-modulating  skill, 
He  learn'd  to  wind  the  passions  at  his  will, 
To  rule  the  chords  with  such  mysterious  art, 
They  seem'd  the  life-strings  of  the  hearer's  heart. 
Then  Glory's  opening  field  he  proudly  trod, 
Forsook  the  worship  and  the  ways  of  God, 
Round  the  vain  world  pursued  the  phantom  Fame, 
And  cast  away  his  birthright  for  a  name. 

Yet  no  delight  the  Minstrel's  bosom  knew, 
None  save  the  tones  that  from  his  heart  he  drew. 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE   THE    FLOOD.  123 


And  the  warm  visions  of  a  wayward  mind, 

Whose  transient  splendour  left  a  gloom  behind, 

Frail  as  the  clouds  of  sunset,  and  as  fair, 

Pageants  of  light  resolving  into  air. 

The  world,  whose  charms  his  young  affections  stole, 

He  found  too  mean  for  an  immortal  soul ; 

Wound  with  his  life,  through  all  his  feelings  wrought, 

Death  and  eternity  possess'd  his  thouglu; 

Remorse  impell'd  him,  unremitting  care 

Harass'd  his  path,  and  stung  him  to  despair. 

Still  was  the  secret  of  his  griefs  unknown, 

Amidst  the  universe  he  sigh'd  alone; 

The  fame  he  follow'd  and  the  fame  he  found, 

Heal'd  not  his  heart's  immedicable  wound  ; 

Admired,  applauded,  crown'd  where'er  he  roved, 

The  Bard  was  homeless,  friendless,  unbeloved. 

All  else  that  breath'd  below  the  circling  sky 

Were  link'd  to  earth  by  some  endearing  tie ; 

He  only,  like  the  ocean-weed  uptorn, 

And  loose  along  the  world  of  waters  borne, 

Was  cast  companionless,  from  wave  to  wave, 

On  life's  rough  sea, — and  there  was  none  to  save. 

The  Giant  King,  who  led  the  hosts  of  Cain, 
Delighted  in  the  Minstrel  and  his  vein; 
No  hand,  no  voice,  like  Javan's  could  control, 
With  soothing  concords,  his  tempestuous  soul, 
With  him  the  wandering  Qard,  who  found  no  rest 
Through  ten  years'  exile,  sought  his  native  west ; 
There  from  the  camp  retiring,  he  pursued 
His  journey  to  the  Patriarchs'  solitude. 
This  son  of  pence  no  martial  armour  wore, 
A  scrip  for  food,  a  stafFin  haud  he  bore  ; 
Flaxen  his  robe  ;  and  o'er  his  shoulder  hung, 
Broad  as  a  warrior's  shield,  his  harp  unstrung, 
A  shell  of  tortoise,  exquisitely  wrought 
With  hieroglyphics  of  embodied  thought : 
Jubal  himself  enchased  the  polish'd  frame; 
And  Tavan  won  it  in  the  strife  for  fame 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  I» 

The  vows  dispersed  that  from  those  lips  were  borne, 
But  never,  never  was  that  heart  forsworn  ; 
Throughout  the  world,  the  charm  of  Zillah's  name 
Repell'd  the  touch  of  every  meaner  flame. 
Jealous  and  watchful  of  the  sex's  wiles, 
He  trembled  at  the  light  of  woman's  smiles  ! 
So  turns  the  mariner's  mistrusting  eye 
From  proud  Orion  bending  through  the  sky, 
Beauteous  and  terrible,  who  shines  afar, 
At  once  the  brightest  and  most  baneful  star. 

Where  Javan  from  that  eastern  hill  survey'd  • 
The  circling  forest  and  embosom'd  glade, 
Earth  wore  one  summer-robe  of  living  green, 
In  heaven's  blue  arch  the  sun  alone  was  seen ; 
Creation  slumber'd  in  the  cloudless  light, 
And  noon  was  silent  as  the  depth  of  night. 
Oh  what  a  throng  of  rushing  thoughts  oppress'd, 
In  that  vast  solitude,  his  anxious  breast ! 
— To  wither  in  the  blossom  of  renown, 
And  unrecorded  to  the  dust  go  down, 
Or  for  a  name  on  earth  to  quit  the  prize 
Of  immortality  beyond  the  skies, 

Perplex'd  his  wavering  choice : — when  Conscience  fail'd, 
Love  rose  against  the  World,  and  Love  prevail'd  ; 
Passion,  in  aid  of  Virtue,  conquer'd  Pride, 
And  Woman  won  the  heart  to  Heaven  denied. 


126  THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD. 


CANTO  SECOND. 

Javan,  descending  through  the  Forest,  arrives  at  the  Place  where  he  had  formerly 
parted  with  Zillah,  when  he  withdrew  from  the  Patriarchs'  Glen — There  he 
again  discovers  her  in  a  Bower  formed  on  the  Spot—  Their  strange  Interview, 
and  abrupt  Separation. 

STEEP  the  descent,  and  wearisome  the  way; 

The  twisted  boughs  forbade  the  light  of  day; 

No  breath  from  heaven  refresh'd  the  sultry  gloom, 

The  arching  forest  seem'd  one  pillar'd  tomb, 

Upright  and  tall  the  trees  of  ages  grow, 

While  all  is  loneliness  and  waste  below ; 

There,  as  the  massy  foliage,  far  aloot 

Display'd  a  dark  impenetrable  roof, 

So,  gnarl'd  and  rigid,  claspt  and  interwound, 

An  uncouth  maze  of  roots  emboss'd  the  ground : 

Midway  beneath,  the  sylvan  wild  assumed 

A  milder  aspect,  shrubs  and  flowerets  bloom'd  ; 

Openings  of  sky,  and  little  plots  of  green, 

And  showers  of  sunbeams  through  the  leaves  were  seen, 

Awhile  the  traveller  halted  at  the  place 
Where  last  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Zillah's  face, 
One  lovely  eve,  when  in  that  calm  retreat 
They  met,  as  they  were  often  wont  to  meet, 
And  parted,  not  as  they  were  wont  to  part, 
With  gay  regret,  but  heaviness  of  heart ; 
Though  Javan  named  for  his  return  the  night, 
When  the  new  moon  had  roll'd  to  full-orbed  light. 
She  stood  and  gazed  through  tears,  that  forced  their  way 
Oft  as  from  steep  to  steep,  with  fond  delay, 
Lessening  at  every  view,  he  turn'd  his  head, 
Hail'd  her  with  weaker  voice,  then  forward  sped. 
From  that  sad  hour  she  saw  his  face  no  more 
In  Eden's  woods,  or  on  Euphrates'  shore  ; 
Moons  wax'd  and  waned  ;  to  her  no  hope  appearM, 
Who  much  his  death  but  more  his  falsehood  fear'd 


121  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Among  the  sons  of  Music,  when  their  Sire 
To  his  victorious  skill  adjudged  the  lyre. 

'T\vas  noon,  when  Javan  climb'd  the  bordering  r.iD 
By  many  an  old  remembrance  hallow'd  still, 
Whence  he  beheld,  by  sloping  woods  enclosed, 
The  hamlet  where  his  Parent's  dust  reposed, 
His  home  of  happiness  in  early  years, 
And  still  the  home  of  all  his  hopes  and  fears, 
When  from  ambition  struggling  to  break  free, 
He  mused  on  joys  and  sorrows  yet  to  be. 
Awhile  he  stood,  with  rumination  pale, 
Casting  an  eye  of  sadness  o'er  the  vale, 
When,  suddenly  abrupt,  spontaneous  prayer 
Burst  from  his  lips  for  One  who  sojourn'd  there  ; 
For  One,  whose  cottage,  far  appearing,  drew, 
Even  from  his  Mother's  grave,  his  transient  view: 
One,  whose  unconscious  smiles  were  wont  to  dart 
Ineffable  emotion  through  his  heart ; 
A  nameless  sympathy,  more  sweet,  move  dear 
Than  friendship,  solaced  him  when  she  was  near, 
And  well  he  guess'd,  while  yet  a  timorous  boy, 
That  Javan's  artless  songs  were  Zillah's  joy. 
But  when  ambition,  with  a  fiercer  flame 
Than  untold  love,  had  fired  his  soul  for  fame, 
This  infant  passion,  cherish'd  yet  represt, 
Lived  in  his  pulse,  but  died  within  his  breast ; 
For  oft  in  distant  lands,  when  hope  beat  high, 
Westward  he  turn'd  his  eager  glistening  eye, 
And  gazed  in  spirit  on  her  absent  form, 
Fair  as  the  moon  emerging  through  the  storm, 
Till  sudden,  strange,  bewildering  horrors  cross'd 
His  thought, — and  every  glimpse  of  joy  was  lost 
Even  then,  when  melancholy  numb'd  his  brain, 
And  life  itself  stood  still  in  every  vein, 
While  his  cold,  quivering  lips  sent  vows  above 
— Never  to  curse  her  with  his  bitter  love  ! 
His  heart,  espoused  with  hers,  in  secret  sware 
To  hold  its  truth  unshaken  by  despair : 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.  127 

Now,  while  he  paused,  the  lapse  of  years  forgot, 
Remembrance  eyed  her  lingering  near  the  spot. 
Onward  he  hasten'd;  all  his  bosom  burn'd, 
As  if  that  eve  of  parting  were  return'd ; 
And  she,  with  silent  tenderness  of  wo, 
Clung  to  his  heart,  and  would  not  let  him  go. 
Sweet  was  the  scene  !  apart  the  cedars  stood, 
A  sunny  islet  open'd  in  the  wood ; 
With  vernal  tints  the  wild-brier  thicket  glows, 
For  here  the  desert  flourish'd  as  the  rose  ; 
From  sapling  trees,  with  lucid  foliage  crown'd, 
Gay  lights  and  shadows  twinkled  on  the  ground; 
Up  the  tall  stems  luxuriant  creepers  run, 
To  hang  their  silver  blossoms  in  the  sun; 
Deep  velvet  verdure  clad  the  turf  beneath, 
Where  trodden  flowers  their  richest  odours  breathe : 
O'er  all  the  bees,  with  murmuring  music,  flew 
From  bell  to  bell,  to  sip  the  treasured  dew; 
While  insect  myriads,  in  the  solar  gleams, 
Glanced  to  and  fro,  like  intermingling  beams ; 
So  fresh,  so  pure,  the  woods,  the  sky,  the  air, 
It  seem'd  a  place  where  angels  might  repair, 
And  tune  their  harps  beneath  those  tranquil  shades, 
To  morning  songs,  or  moonlight  serenades. 

He  paused  again,  with  memory's  dream  entranced, 
Again  his  foot  unconsciously  advanced, 
For  now  the^  laurel-thicket  caught  his  view, 
Where  he  and  Zillah  wept  their  last  adieu. 
Some  curious  hand,  since  that  bereaving  hour, 
Had  twined  the  copse  into  a  covert  bower, 
With  many  a  light  and  fragrant  shrub  between, 
Flowering  aloft  amidst  perennial  green. 
As  Javan  search'd  this  blossom-woven  shade, 
He  spied  the  semblance  of  a  sleeping  maid; 
'Tis  she  ;  'tis  Zillah,  in  her  leafy  shrine  ; 
O'erwatch'd  in  slumber  by  a  power  divine, 
In  cool  retirement  from  the  heat  of  day. 
Alone,  unfearing,  OQ  the  moss  she  lay, 


128  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Fair  as  the  rainbow  shines  through  darkening  showers, 
Pure  as  a  wreath  of  snow  on  April  flowers. 

O  youth  !  in  later  times,  whose  gentle  ear 
This  tale  of  ancient  constancy  shall  hear; 
If  thou  hast  known  the  sweetness  and  the  pain 
To  love  with  secret  hope,  yet  love  in  vain : 
If  months  and  years  in  pining  silence  worn, 
Till  doubt  and  fear  might  be  no  longer  borne, 
In  evening  shades  thy  faltering  tongue  confess'd 
The  last  dear  wish  that  trembled  in  thy  breast, 
While  at  each  pause  the  streamlet  purl'd  along, 
And  rival  woodlands  echo'd  song  for  song; 
Recall  the  maiden'."  look ; — the  eye,  the  cheek, 
The  blush  that  spoke  what  language  could  not  speak; 
Recall  her  look,  when  at  the  altar's  side 
She  seal'd  her  promise,  and  became  thy  bride, 
Such  were  to  Javan  Zillah's  form  and  face, 
The  flower  of  meekness  on  a  stem  of  grace ; 
Oh,  she  was  all  that  youth  of  beauty  deems 
All  that  to  Love  the  loveliest  object  seems. 

Moments  there  are,  that,  in  their  sudden  flight, 
Bring  the  slow  mysteries  of  years  to  light; 
Javan,  in  one  transporting  instant,  knew 
That  all  he  wish'd,  and  all  he  fear'd,  wfcs  true ; 
For  while  the  harlot-world  his  soul  possess'd, 
Love  seem'd  a  crime  in  his  apostate  breast; 
How  could  he  tempt  her  innocence  .to  share 
His  poor  ambition,  and  his  fix'd  despair! 
But  now  the  phantoms  of  a  wandering  brain, 
And  wounded  spirit,  cross'd  his  thoughts  in  vain; 
Past  sins  and  follies,  cares  and  woes  forgot, 
Peace,  virtue,  Zillah,  seem'd  his  present  lot; 
Where'er  he  look'd,  around  him  or  above, 
All  was  the  pledge  of  Truth,  the  work  of  Love, 
At  whose  transforming  hand,  where  last  they  stood, 
Had  sprung  that  lone  memorial  in  the  wood. 

Thus  on  the  slumbering  maid  while  Javan  gazed, 
With  quicker  swell  her  hidden  bosom  raised 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  129 

The  shadowy  tresses,  that  profusely  shed 
Their  golden  wreaths  from  her  reclining-  head  ; 
A  deeper  crimson  mantled  o'er  her  cheek, 
Her  close  lip  quiver'd  as  in  act  to  speak. 
While  broken  sobs,  and  tremors  of  unrest, 
The  inward  trouble  of  a  dream  express'd: 
At  length,  amidst  imperfect  murmurs,  fell 
The  name  of  "  Javan  !"  and  a  low  "  farewell!" 
Tranquil  again,  her  cheek  resumed  its  hue, 
And  soft  as  infancy  her  breath  she  drew. 

When  Javan's  ear  those  startling  accents  thrill'd,  * 
Wonder  and  ecstasy  his  bosom  fill'd  ; 
But  quick  compunction  humbler  feelings  wrought, 
He  blush'd  to  be  a  spy  on  Zillah's  thought ; 
He  turn'd  aside  ;  within  the  neighbouring  brake, 
Resolved  to  tarry  till  the  nymph  awake, 
There,  as  in  luxury  of  thought  reclined, 
A  calm  of  tenderness  composed  his  mind : 
His  stringless  harp  upon  the  turf  was  thrown, 
And  on  a  pipe  of  most  mellifluous  lone, 
Framed  by  himself,  the  musing  Minstrel  play'd, 
To  charm  the  slumberer,  cloister'd  in  the  shade. 
Jubal  had  taught  the  lyre's  responsive  string, 
Beneath  the  rapture  of  his  touch  to  sing;  I 

And  bade  the  trumpet  wake,  with  bolder  breath, 
The  joy  of  battle  in  the  field  of  death; 
But  Javan  first,  whom  pure  affection  fired, 
With  Love's  clear  eloquence  the  flute  inspired ; 
At  once  obedient  to  the  lip  and  hand, 
It  utter'd  every  feeling  at  command. 
Light  o'er  the  stops  his  airy  fingers  flew, 
A  spirit  spoke  in  every  tone  they  drew  ; 
'Twas  now  the  skylark  on  the  wings  of  morn, 
Now  the  night-warbler  leaning  on  her  thorn  ; 
Anon -through  every  pulse  the  music  stole, 
And  held  sublime  communion  with  the  soul, 
Wrung  from  the  coyest  breast  the  unprison'd  sigh. 
And  kindled  rapture  in  the  coldest  eye. 


130  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Thus  on  his  dulcet  pipe  while  Javan  play'd, 
Within  her  bower  awoke  the  conscious  maid  ; 
She,  in  her  dream,  by  varying  fancies  crost, 
Had  hail'd  her  Avanderer  found,  and  mourn'd  him  lost: 
In  one  wild  vision,  midst  a  land  unknown, 
By  a  dark  river,  as  she  sat  alone, 
Javan  beyond  the  stream  dejected  stood  ; 
He  spied  her  soon,  and  leapt  into  the  flood  ; 
The  thwarting  current  urged  him  down  its  course, 
But  Love  repell'd  it  with  victorious  force  ; 
She  Van  to  help  him  landing,  where  at  length 
He  struggled  up  the  bank  with  failing  strength: 
She  caught  his  hand  ; — when,  downward  from  the  day, 
A  water-monster  dragg'd  the  youth  away  ; 
She  follow'd  headlong,  but  her  garments  bore 
Her  form,  light  floating,  till  she  saw  no  more  : 
For  suddenly  the  dream's  delusion  changed, 
And  through  a  blooming  wilderness  she  ranged; 
Alone  she  seem'd,  but  not  alone  she  walk'd, 
Javan,  invisible,  beside  her  talk'd. 
He  told,  how  he  had  journey'd  many  a  year 
With  changing  seasons  in  their  swift  career, 
Danced  with  the  breezes  in  the  bowers  of  rnorn, 
Slept  in  the  valley  where  new  moons  are  born, 
Rode  with  the  planets,  on  their  golden  cars, 
Rottnd  the  blue  world  inhabited  by  stars, 
And,  bathing  in  the  sun's  crystalline  streams, 
Became  ethereal  spirit  in  the  beams, 
Whence  were  his  lineaments,  from  mortal  sight, 
Absorb'd  in  pure  transparency  of  light; 
But  now,  his  pilgrimage  of  glory  past, 
In  Eden's  vale  he  sought  repose  at  last. 
— The  voice  was  mystery  to  Zillah's  ear, 
Not  speech,  nor  song,  yet  full,  melodious,  clear; 
No  sounds  of  winds  or  waters,  birds  or  bees,' 
Were  e'er  so  exquisitely  tuned  to  please. 
Then  while  she  sought  him  with  desiring  eyes, 
The  airy  Javan  darted  from  disguise  : 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 


131 


Full  on  her  vievr  a  stranger's  visage  broke  ; 
She  fled,  she  fell,  he  caught  her, — she  awoke. 

Awoke  from  .sleep, — but  in  her  solitude 
Found  the  enchantment  of  her  dream  renew'd;. 
That  living  voice,  so  full,  melodious,  clear, 
That  voice  of  mystery  warbled  in  her  ear. 
Yet  words  no  longer  wing  the  trembling  notes, 
Unearthly,  inexpressive  music  floats 
In  liquid  tones  so  voluble  and  wild, 
Her  senses  seem  by  slumber  still  beguiled  : 
Alarm'd,  she  started  from  her  lonely  den, 
But  blushing,  instantly  retired  again; 
The  viewless  phantom  came  in  sound  so  near, 
The  stranger  of  her  dream  might  next  appear. 
Javan,  conceal'd  behind  the  verdant  brake, 
Felt  his«lip  fail,  and  strength  his  hand  forsake; 
Then  dropt  his  flute,  and  while  he  lay  at  rest 
Heard  every  pulse  that  travell'd  through  his  breast. 
Zillah,  who  deem'd  the  strange  illusion  fled, 
Now  from  the  laurel-arbour  show'd  her  head, 
Her  eye  quick-glancing  round,  as  if,  in  thought, 
Recoiling  from  the  object  that  she  sought: 
By  slow  degrees,  to  Javan  in  the  shade, 
The  emerging  nymph  her  perfect  shape  display'd. 
Time  had  but  touch'd  her  form  to  finer  grace, 
Years  had  but  shed  their  favours  on  her  face, 
While  secret  love,  and  unrewarded  Truth, 
Like  cold,  clear  dew  upon  the  rose  of  youth, 
Gave  to  the  springing  flower  a  chasten'd  bloom, 
And  shut  from  rifling  winds  its  coy  perfume. 

Words  cannot  paint  the  wonder  of  her  look,     • 
When  once  again  his  pipe  the  minstrel  took, 
And  soft  in  under-tones  began  to  play, 
Like  the  caged  woodlark's  low-lamenting  lay: 
Then  loud  and  shrill,  by  stronger  breath  impell'd, 
To  higher  strairs  the  undaunted  music  swell'd, 
Till  new-born  echoes  through  the  forest  rang, 
And  birds,  at  noon,  in  broken  slumbers  sang, 


139  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Bewildering  transport,  infantine  surprise, 

Throbb'd  in  her  bosom,  sparkled  in  her  eyes. 

O'er  every  feature  every  feeling  shone, 

Her  colour  changed  as  Javan  changed  his  tone  ; 

While  she  between  the  bower  and  brake  entranced 

Alternately  retreated  or  advanced  ; 

Sometimes  the  lessening  cadence  seem'd  to  fly, 

Then  the  full  melody  came  rolling  nigh : 

She  shrunk,  or  follow'd  still,  with  eye  and  feet, 

Afraid  to  lose  it,  more  afraid  to  meet ; 

For  yet  through  Eden's  land,  by  fame  alone, 

Jubal's  harmonious  minstrelsy  was  known, 

Though  nobler  songs  than  cheer'd  the  Patriarchs'  gler 

Never  resounded  from  the  lips  of  men. 

Silence,  at  length,  the  listening  maiden  broke ; 
The  heart  of  Javan  check'd  him  while  she  spoke : 

•*•  * 

Though  sweeter  than  his  pipe  her  accents  stole, 

He  durst  not  learn  the  tumult  of  her  soul, 

But,  closely  cowering  in  his  ambuscade, 

With  sprightlier  breath  and  nimbler  finger  play'd. 

— "  'Tis  not  the  nightingale  that  sang  so  well 

When  Javan  left  me  near  this  lonely  cell : 

'Tis  not  indeed  the  nightingale  ; — her  voice 

Could  never  since  that  hour  my  soul  rejoice: 

Some  bird  from  Paradise  hath  lost  her  way, 

And  carols  here  a  long-forbidden  lay; 

For  ne'er  since  Eve's  transgression  mortal  ear 

Was  privileged  such  heavenly  sounds  to  hear; 

Perhaps  an  angel,  while  he  rests  his  wings, 

On  earth  alighting, 'here  his  descant  sings; 

Methinks  those  tones,  so  full  of  joy  and  love, 

Must  be 'the  language  of  the  world  above  ! 

Within  this  brake  he  rests."    With  curious  ken, 

As  if  she  fear'd  to  stir  a  lion's  den, 

Breathless,  on  tiptoe,  round  the  copse  she  crept; 

Her  heart  beat  quicker,  louder  as  she  slept, 

Till  Javan  rose,  and  fix'd  on  her  his  eyes, 

In  dumb  embarrassment,  and  feign'd  surprise; 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    TH2   FLOOD.  133 

Upright  she  started  at  the  sudden  view, 

Back  from  her  brow  the  scatter'd  ringlets  flew: 

Paleness  a  moment  overspread  her  i'ace  ; 

But  fear  to  frank  astonishment  gave  plac'e, 

.Ar.d,  with  the  virgin-blush  of  innocence, 

She  ask'd — '-Who  art  thou,  stranger,  and  from  whence?" 

With  rnild  demeanour,  and  with  downcast  eye, 
Javan,  advancing,  humbly  made  reply; 
—"A  wretch  escaping  from  the  tribes  of  men, 
Seeks  an  asylum  in  the  Patriarchs'  glen; 
As  through  the  forest's  breathless  gloom  I  stray'd, 
Up  sprang  the  breeze  in  this  delicious  shade; 
Then,  while  I  sate  beneath  the  rustling  tree, 
I  waked  this  pipe  to  wildest  minstrelsy, 
Child  of  rny  fancy,  framed  with  Jubal's  art, 
To  breathe  at  will  the  fulness  of  rny  heart: 
Fairest  of  women  !  if  the  clamour  rude 
Hath  scared  the  quiet  of  thy  solitude, 
Forgive  the  innocent  offence,  and  tell 
How  far  beyond  these  woods  the  righteous  dwell." — 

Though  changed  his  voice,  his  look  and  stature  changed, 
In  air  and  garb,  in  all  but  love  estranged, 
Still  in  the  youthful  exile  Zillah  sought 
A  dear  lost  friend,  for  ever  near  her  thought ! 
Yet  answer'd  coldly, — jealous  arid  afraid 
Her  heart  might  be  mistaken,  or  betray'd. 
— "Not  far  from  hence  the  faithful  race  reside  ; 
Pilgrim  !  to  whom  shall  I  thy  footsteps  guide  ? 
Alike  to  all,  if  thou  an  alien  be, 
My  father's  home  invites  thee  ;  follow  me." 

She  spoke  with  such  a  thought-divining  look, 
Colour  his  lip,  and  power  his  tongue  forsook; 
At  length,  in  hesitating  tone,  and  low. 
— "  Enoch,"  said  he,  "  the  friend  of  God  I  know. 
To  him  I  bear  a  message  full  of  fe'ar; 
I  may  not  rest  till  he  vouchsafe  to  hear." 

He -paused;  his  cheek  with  red  confusion  burn'd; 
Kindness  through  her  relenting  breast  return'd : 

.CL.  i.  12 


L 


1.11  .      THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

^—"Behold  the  path,"  she  cried,  and  led  the  way: 
Ere  Idng  the  vale  unbosom'd.to  the  day: 
— "Yonder,  where  two  embracing  oaks  are  seen, 
Arch'd  o'er  a  cottage-roof,  that  peeps  between, 
Dwells  Enoch;  stranger!  peace  attend  thee  there, 
My  father's  sheep  demand  his  daughter's  care." 

Javan  was  so  rebuked  beneath  her  eye, 
She  vanish'd  .ere  he  falter'd  a  replyj 
And  sped,  while  he  in-  cold  amazement  stood, 
Along  the  winding  border  of  the  wood  ; 
Now  lost,  now  re-appearing,  as  the  glade 
Shone  to  the  sun,  or  darken'd  in  the  shade, 
He  saw,  but  might  not  follow,  where  her  flock 
Were  wont  to  rest  at  noon,  beneath  a  rock. 
He  knew  the  willowy  Champaign,  and  the  stream, 
Of  many  an  early  lay  the  simple  theme, 
Chanted  in  boyhood's  unsuspecting  hours, 
When  Zillah  join'd  the  song,  or  praised  his  powers 
Thither  he  watch'd  her,  while  her  course  she  bore, 
Nor  ceased  to  gaze  when  she  was  seen  no  more. 


CANTO  THIRD. 

Javnn's  Solilofuy  on  Zillah's  Desertion  of  him — ffe  reaches  the  Ruins  of  hit 
Mother's  Cottage — Thence  he  proceeds  to  Enoch's  Dwelling — His  Reception 
there — Enoch  and  Javan  proceed  together  towards  the  Place  of  Sacrifice — De- 
scription of  the  Patriarchs'  Olen — Occasion  ef  the  Faintly  of  Seth  retiring 
thither  at  first. 

"AM  I  so  changed  by  suffering,  so  forgot, 
That  love  disowns  me,  Zillah  knows  me  not? 
Ah!  no:  she  shrinks  from  my  disastrous  fate; 
She  dare  not  love  me,  and  she  cannot  hate : 
'Tis  just;  I  merit  this-: — When  Nature's  womb 
Ingulf'd  my  kindred  in  one  common  tomb, 
Why  was  I  spared  ? — A  reprobate  by  birth,          -  . 
To  heaven  rebellious,  unallied  on  earth, 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.    '  135 

Whither,  oh  whither  shall  the  outcast  flee  ? 

There  is  no  home,  no  peace,  no  hope  for  me. 

I  hate  the  worldling's  vanity  and  noise, 

I  have  no  fellow-feeling  in  his  joys ; 

The  saint's  serener  bliss  I  cannot  share, 

My  soul,  alas.!  hath  no  communion  there. 

This  is  the  portion  of  my  cup  below, 

Silent,  unmingled,  solitary  wo  ; 

To  bear  from  clime  to  clime  the  curse  of  Cain. 

Sin  with  remorse,  yet  find  repentance  vain  ; 

And  cling,  in  blank  despair,  from  breath  to  breath, 

To  nought  in  life,  except  the  fear  of  death." — 

While  Javan  gave  his  bitter  passion  vent, 
And  wander'd  on,  unheeding  where  he  went,  • 
His  feet,  instinctive,  led  him  to  the  spot 
Where  rose  the  ruins  of  his  childhood's  cot: 
Here,  as  he  halted  in  abrupt  surprise, 
His  mother  seem'd  to  vanish  from  his  eyes, 
As  if  her  gentle  form,  unmark'd  before, 
Had  stood  to  greet  him  at  the  wonted  door; 
Yet  did  the  pale  retiring  Spirit  dart 
A  look  of  tenderness  that  broke  his  heart : 
'Twas  but  a  thought,  arrested  on  its  flight, 
And  bodied  forth  with  visionary  light, 
But  chill  the  life-blood  ran  through  every  vein, 
The  fire  of  frenzy  faded  from  his  brain, 
He  cast  himself  in  terror  on  the  ground  : 
Slowly  recovering  strength,  he  gazed  around, 
In  wistful  silence,  eyed  those  walls  decay'd, 
Between  whose  chinks  the  lively  lizard  play'd  ; 
The  moss-clad  timbers,  loose  and  lapsed  awry, 
Threatening  ere  long  in  wider  wreck  to  lie ; 
The  fractured  roof,  through  which  the  sun-beams  shone, 
With  rank,  unflowering  verdure  overgrown; 
The  prostrate  fragments  of  the  wicker-door, 
And  reptile  traces  on  the  dump  green  floor. 
This 'mournful  spectacle  while  Javan  view'd, 
Life's  earliest  scenes  and  trials  were  renevv'd; 


138  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

O'er  his  dark  mind  the  light  of  years  gone  by 
Gleam'd,  like  the  meteors  of  a  northern  sky. 
He  moved  his  lips,  but  strove  in  vain  to  speak, 
A  few  slow  tears  stray'd  down  his  cold,  wan  cheek, 
Till  from  his  breast  a  sigh  convulsive  sprung, 
And  "O  my  mother!"  trembled  from  his  tongue. 
That  name,  though  but  a  murmur,  that  dear  name 
Touch' d  every  kind  affection  into  flame ; 
Despondency  assumed  a  milder  form, 
A  ray  of  comfort  darted  through  the  storm  ; 
"  O  God  !  be  merciful  to  me  !" — He  said, 
Arose,  and  straight  to  Enoch's  dwelling  sped. 

Enoch,  who  sate,  to  taste  the  freshening  breeze, 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  his  cottage-trees, 
Beheld  the  youth  approaching;  and  his  eye," 
Instructed  by  the  light  of  prophecy, 
Knew  from  afar,  beneath  the  stranger's  air, 
The  orphan  object  of  his  tenderest  care ; 
Forth,  with  a  father's  joy,  the  holy  man 
To  meet  the  poor  returning  pilgrim  ran, 
Fell  on  his  neck,  and  kiss'd  him,  wept,  and  cried 
"My  son  !   my  son  !" — but  Javan  shrunk  aside  ; 
The  Patriarch  raised,  embraced  him,  oft  withdrew 
His  head  to  gaze,  then  wept  and  clasp'd  anew. 
The  mourner  bow'd  with  agony  of  shame, 
Clung  round  his  knees,  and  call'd  upon  his  name. 
— "  Father!  behold  a  supplicant  in  me, 
A  sinner  in  the  sight  of  heaven  and  thee  ; 
Yet  for  thy  former  love,  ma)^  Javan  live  ; 
Oh,  for  the  mother's  sake,  the  son  forgive! — 
The  meanest  office,  and  the  lowest  seat, 
In  Enoch's  house  be  mine,  at  Enoch's  feet." 

"Come  to  my  home,  my  bosom,  and  my  rest, 
Not  as  a  stranger  and  way-faring  guest ; 
My  bread  of  peace,  my  cup  of  blessings  share, 
Child  of  my  faith  !  and  answer  to  my  prayer ! 
Oh,  I  have  wept  through  many  a  night  for  thee, 
And  watch'd  through  many  a  day  this  day  to  see. 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.  137 

Crown'd  is  the  hope  of  my  desiring  heart, 
I  am  resign'd,  and  ready  to  depart: 
With  joy  I  hail  my  course  of  nature  run, 
Since  I  have  seen  thy  face,  my  son  !  my  son  !" 

So  saying,  Enoch  led  to  his  abode 
The  trembling  penitent,  along  the  road 
That  through  the  garden's  gay  enclosure  wound  ; 
Midst  fruits  and  flowers  the  Patriarch's  spouse  they  found, 
Plucking  the  purple  clusters  from  the  vine 
To  crown  the  cup  of  unfermcnted  wine. 
She  came  to  meet  them  ; — but  in  strange  surmise 
Stopt,  and  on  Javan  fix'd  her  earnest  eyes ; 
He  kneel'd  to  greet  her  hand  with  wonted  grace—- 
Ah !  then  she  knew  him  ! — as  he  bow'd  his  face, 
His  mother's  features  in  a  glimpse  she  caught, 
And  the  son's  image  rush'd  upon  her  thought; 
Pale  she  rccoil'd  with  momentary  fright, 
As  if  a  spirit  had  risen  before  her  sight, 
Returning,  with  a  heart  too  full  to  speak, 
She  pour'd  a  flood  of  tears  upon  his  cheek, 
Then  laugh'd  for  gladness, — but  her  laugh  was  wild  : 
— "Where  hast  thou  been,  my  own,  my  orphan  child? 
Child  of  my  soul !  bequeath'd  in  death  to  me 
By  her  who  had  no  other  wealth  than  thee  !" 
She  cried,  and  with  a  mother's  love  caress'd 
The  youth  who  wept  in  silence  on  her  breast. 

This  hasty  tumult  of  aflection  o'er, 
They  pass'd  within  the  hospitable  door; 
There  on  a  grassy  couch,  with  joy  o'ercome, 
Pensive  with  awe,  with  veneration  dumb, 
Javan  reclined,  while  kneeling  at  his  seat, 
The  humble  Patriarch  wash'd  the  traveller's  feet. 
Quickly  the  Spouse  her  plenteous  table  spread 
With  homely  viands,  milk  and  fruits  and  bread. 
Ere  long  the  guest,  grown  innocently  bold, 
With  simple  eloquence  his  story  told; 
His  sins,  his  follies,  frankly  were  reveal'd, 
And  nothing  but  his  nameless  love  conceal'd. 

12* 


.138  THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

— "While  thus,"  he  cried,  "I  proved  the  world  a  snare, 
Pleasure  a  serpent,  fame  a  cloud  in  air; 
While  with  the  sons  of  men  my  footsteps  trod, 
My  home,  ray  heart  was  with  the  sons  of  God.' 

"Went  not  my  spirit  with  thee,"  Enoch  said, 
"When  from  the  mother's  grave  the  orphan  fled? 
Others  believed  thee  slain  by  beasts  of  blood, 
O*r  self-devoted  to  the  strangling  flood, 
(Too  plainly  in  thy  gnef-bewilder'd  mien, 
By  every  eye,  a  breaking  heart  was  seen ;) 
I  mourn'd  in  secret  thine  apostasy, 
Nor  ceased  to  intercede  with  Heaven  for  thee. 
Strong  was  my  faith,  in  dreams  or  waking  thought, 
Oft  as  thine  image  o'er  my  mind  was  brought, 
I  dfiem'd  thee  living  by  this  conscious  sign, 
The  deep  communion  of  my  soul  with  thine. 
This  day  a  voice,  that  thrill'd  my  breast  with  fear, 
(Methought  'twas  Adam's)  whisper'd  in  mine  ear, 
— '  Enoch,  ere  thrice  the  morning  meet  the  sun, 
Thy  joy  shall  be  fulfill'd,  thy  rest  begun.' — 
While  yet  those  tones  were  murmuring  in  air, 
I  turn'd  to  look, — but  saw.  no  speaker  there  : 
Thought  I  not  then  of  thee,  my  long-lost  joy? 
Leapt  not  my  heart  abroad  to  meet  my  boy? 
Yes !  and  while  still  I  sate  beneath  the  tree, 
Revolving  what  the  signal  meant  to  me, 
I  spied  thee  coming,  and  with  eager  feet 
Ran,  the  returning  fugitive  to  greet: 
Nor  less  the  welcome  art  thou,  since  I  know 
By  this  high  warning,  that  from  earth  I  go: 
My  days  are  number'd  :  peace  on  thine  attend  ! 
The  trial  comes, — be  faithful  to  the  end." 

"  Oh  live  the  years  of  Adam  !"  cried  the  youth  ; 
"Yet  seem  thy  words  to  breathe  prophetic  truth  ; 
Sire  !  while  I  roam'd  the  world,  a  transient  guest, 
From  sunrise  to  the  ocean  of  the  west, 
I  found  that  sin,  where'er  the  foot  of'man 
Nature's  primeval  wilderness  o'er-ran 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  139 

Had  track'd  his  steps,  and  through  advancing  time 

Urged  the  deluded  race  from  crime  to  crime, 

Till  wrath  and  strife,  in  fratricidal  war, 

Gather'd  the  force  of  nations  from  afar, 

To  deal  and  suffer  death's  unheeded  blow, 

As  if  the  curse  on  Adam  were  too  slow, 

Even  now  an  host,  like  locusts  on  their  way, 

That  desolate  the  earth,  and  dim  the  day, 

Led  by  a  giant-king,  whose  arm  hath  broke 

Remotest  realms  to  wear  his  iron  yoke, 

Hover  o'er  Eden,  resolute  to  close 

His  final  triumph  o'er  his  latest  foes  ; 

A  feeble  band,  that  in  their  covert  lie, 

Like  cowering  doves  beneath  the  falcon's  eye. 

That  easy  and  ignoble  conquest  won, 

There  yet  remains  one  fouler  deed  undone ; 

Oft  have  I  heard  the  tyrant  in  his  ire 

Devote  this  glen  to  massacre  and  fire, 

And  swear  to  root,  from  earth's  dishonour'd  face, 

The  last,  least  relic  of  the  faithful  race  ; 

Thenceforth  he  hopes,  on  God's  terrestrial  throne 

To  rule  the  nether  universe  alone. 

Wherefore,  O  Sire  !  when  evening  shuts  the  sky, 

Fly  with  thy  kindred,  from  destruction  fly; 

Far  to  the  south,  unpeopled  wilds  of  wood 

Skirt  the  dark  borders  of  Euphrates'  flood; 

There  shall  the  Patriarchs  find  secure  repose, 

Till  Eden  rest,  forsaken  of  her  foes." 

At  Javan's  speech  the  Matron's  cheek  grew  pale, 
Her  courage,  not  her  faith,  began  to  fail ; 
Eve's  youngest  daughter  she  ;  the  silent  tear 
Witness'd  her  patience,  but  betray'd  her  fear. 
Then  answer'd  Enoch,  with  a  smile  serene, 
That  shed  celestial  beauty  o'er  his  mien ; 
"  Here  is  mine  earthly  habitation  ;  here 
I  wait  till  my  Redeemer  shall  appear ; 
Death  and  the  face  of  man  I  dare  not  shun, 
God  is  my  refuge,  and  His  will  be  done." 


i40  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

The  Matron  check'd  her  uncomplaining  sigh, 
And  wiped  the  drop  that  trembled  in  her  eye. 
Javan  with  shame  and  self-abasement  blush'd, 
But  every  care  at  Enoch's  smile  was  hush'd  : 
He  felt  the  power  of  truth ;  his  heart  o'erflow'd, 
And  in  his  look  sublime  devotion  glow'd. 
Westward  the  Patriarch  turn'd  his  tranquil  face  ; 
"The  Sun,"  said  he,  "hath  well-nigh  run  his  race  ; 
I  to  the  yearly  sacrifice  repair, 
Our  Brethren  meet  me  at  the  place  of  prayer." 

"I  follow:  O  my  father!  I  am  thine  ; 
Thy  God,  thy  people,  and  thine  altar  mine  !' 
Exclaim'd  the  youth,  on  highest  thoughts  intent, 
And  forth  with  Enoch  through  the  valley  went. 

Deep  was  that  valley,  girt  with  rock  and  wood, 
In  rural  groups  the  scatter'd  hamlet  stood  ; 
Tents,  arbours,  cottages  adorn'd  the  scene, 
Gardens  and  fields,  and  shepherds'  walks  between ; 
Through  all,  a  streamlet,  from  its  mountain-source, 
Seen  but  by  stealth,  pursued  its  willowy  course. 

When  first  the  mingling  sons  of  God  and  man 
The  demon-sacrifice  of  war  began, 
Self-exiled  here,  the  family  of  Seth 
Renounced  a  world  of  violence  and  death, 
Faithful  alone  amidst  the  faithless  found,* 
And  innocent  while  murder  cursed  the  ground. 
Here,  in  retirement  from  profane  mankind, 
They  worshipp'd  God  with  purity  of  mind, 
Fed  their  small  flocks,  and  till'd  their  narrow  soil, 
Like  parent  Adam,  with  submissive  toil, 
— Adam,  whose  eyes  their  pious  hands  had  closed, 
Whose  bones  beneath  the.'r  quiet  turf  reposed. 
No  glen  like  this,  unstain'd  with  human  blood, 
Could  youthful  nature  boast  before  the  flood; 


'  So  spake  Ihe  Seraph  Abdiel,  faithful  found 
Among  the  faithless,  faithful  only  he  " 

Paradise  Lost,  book  vi. 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  Ml 

Far  less  shall  Earth,  now  hastening  to  decay, 

A  scene  of  sweeter  loneliness  display, 

Where  nought  was  heard  but  sounds  of  peace  and  love, 

Nor  seen  but  woods  around,  and  heaven  above. 

Yet  not  in  cold  and  unconcern'd  content 
Their  years  in  that  delicious  range  were  spent ; 
Oft  from  their  haunts  the  fervent  Patriarchs  broke, 
In  strong  affection  to  their  kindred  spoke. 
With  tears  and  prayers  reproved  their  growing  crimes, 
Or  told  the  impending  judgments  of  the  times. 
In  vain;  the  world  despised  the  warning  word, 
With  scorn  belied  it,  or  with  mockery  heard, 
Forbade  the  zealous  monitors  to  roam, 
And  stoned  or  chased  them  to  their  forest  home. 
There,  from  the  depth  of  solitude,  their  sighs 
Pleaded  with  Heaven  in  ceaseless  sacrifice, 
And  long  did  righteous  Heaven  the  guilty  spare, 
Won  by  the  holy  violence  of  prayer. 

Yet  sharper  pangs  of  unavailing  wo, 
Those  sires  in  secrecy  were  doom'd  to  know; 
Oft  by  the  world's  alluring  snares  misled, 
Their  youth  from  that  sequester'd  valley  fled, 
Join'd  the  wild  herd,  increased  the  godless  crew, 
And  left  the  virtuous  remnant  weak  and  few. 


142  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 


CANTO  FOURTH. 

Enoch  relates  to  Javan  the  Circumstances  of  the  Death  of  Jid&m,  including-  hit 
Appointment  of  an  Annual  Sacrifice  on  the  Day  of  his  Transgression  and  fall 
in  Paradise. 

THUS  through  the  valley  while  they  held  their  walk, 

Enoch  of  former  days  began  to  talk, 

— "  Thou  know'st  our  place  of  sacrifice  and  prayer, 

Javan  !  for  tliou  wert  wont  to  worship  there  : 

Built  by  our  father's  venerable  hands, 

On  the  same  spot  our  ancient  altar  stands, 

Where,  driven  from  Eden's  hallow'd  groves,  he  found 

A  home  on  earth's  unconsecrated  ground; 

Whence,  too,  his  pilgrimage  of  trial  o'er, 

He  reach'd  the  rest  which  sin  can  break  no  more. 

Oft  hast  thou  heard  our  elder  Patriarchs  tell 

How  Adam  once  by  disobedience  fell  ; 

Would  that  my  tongue  were  gifted  to  display 

The  terror  and  the  glory  of  that  day, 

When,  seized  and  stricken  by  the  hand  of  Death, 

The  first  transgressor  yielded  up  his  breath  ! 

Nigh  threescore  years,  with  interchanging  light, 

The  host  of  heaven  have  measured  day  and  night, 

Since  we  beheld  the  ground,  from  which  he  rose, 

On  his  returning  dust  in  silence  close. 

"With  him  his  noblest  sons  might  not  conopare, 
In  godlike  feature  and  majestic  air; 
Not  out  of  weakness  rose  his  gradual  frame, 
Perfect  from  his  Creator's  hand  he  came  ; 
And  as  in  form  excelling,  so  in  mind 
The  Sire  of  men  transcended  all  mankind  ; 
A  soul  was  in  his  eye,  and  in  his  speech 
A  dialect  of  heaven  no  art  could  reach  ; 
For  oft  of  old  to  him  the  evening  breeze 
Had  borne  the  voice  of  God  among  the  trees ; 
A.ngels  were  wont  their  songs  with  his  to  blend, 
And  talk  with  him  as  their  familiar  friend. 


i 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  143 

But  deep  remorse,  for  that  mysterious  crime 
Whose  dire  contagion  through  elapsing  time 
Diffused  the  curse  of  death  beyond  control, 
Had  wrought  such  self-abasement  in  his  soul, 
That  he,  whose  honours  were  approach'd  by  none, 
Was  yet  the  meekest  man  beneath  the  sun. 
From  sin,  as  from  the  serpent  that  betray'd 
Eve's  early  innocence,  he  shrunk  afraid; 
Vice  he  rebuked  with  so  austere  a  frown, 
He  seem'd  to  bring  an  instant  judgment  down  ; 
Yet  while  he  chid,  compunctious  tears  would  start, 
And  yearning  tenderness  dissolve  his  heart ! 
The  guilt  of  all  his  race  became  his  own, 
He  suffer' d  as  if  he  had  sinn'd  alone. 
Within  our  glen,  to  filial  love  endear'd, 
Abroad  for  wisdom,  truth,  and  justice  fear'd, 
He  walk'd  so  humbly  in  the  sight  of  all, 
The  vilest  ne'er  reproach'd  him  with  his  fall. 
Children  were  his  delight; — they  ran  to  meet 
His  soothing  hand,  and  clasp  his  honour'd  feet; 
While  midst  their  fearless  sports,  supremely  blest, 
He  grew  in  heart  a  child  among  the  rest : 
Yet  as  a  Parent,  nought  beneath  the  sky 
Touch'd  him  so  quickly  as  an  infant's  eye  : 
Joy  from  its  smile  of  happiness  he  caught ; 
Its  flash  of  rage  sent  horror  through  his  thought: 
His  smitten  conscience  felt  as  fierce  a  pain 
As  if  he  fell  from  innocence  again. 

"  One  morn  I  track'd  him  on  his  lonely  way, 
Pale  as  the  gleam  of  slow-awakening  day; 
With  feeble  step  he  climb'd  yon  craggy  height, 
Thence  fix'd  on  distant  Paradise  his  sight; 
He  ga/ed  awhile  in  silent  thought  profound, 
Then  falling  prostrate  on  the  dewy  ground, 
He  pour'd  his  spirit  in  a  flood  of  prayer, 
Bewail'd  his  ancient  crime  with  self-despair, 
And  claim'd  the  pledge  of  reconciling  grace, 
The  promised  Seed,  the  Saviour  of  his  race. 


Ik: ~  =  _I_.—  ~-— _-:,:-_ ;_-_-.    -_:  T..-_-    --__-—.- _r.., v   -  -  -.^.":."_.--     - 


144  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Wrestling  with  God,  as  nature's  vigour  fail'd, 
His  faith  grew  stronger  and  his  plea  prevail'd ; 
The  prayer  from  agony  to  rapture  rose, 
And  sweet  as  angel  accents  fell  the  close. 
I  stood  to  greet  him:  when  he  raised  his  head, 
Divine  expression  o'er  his  visage  spread.; 
His  presence  was  so  saintly  to  behold, 
He  seem'd  in  sinless  Paradise  grown  old. 

" — 'This  day,'  said  he, '  in  Time's  star-lighted  round, 
Renews  the  anguish  of  that  mortal  wound 
On  me  inflicted,  when  the  Serpent's  tongue 
My  Spouse  with  his  beguiling  falsehood  stung. 
Though  years  of  grace  through  centuries  have  pass'd 
Since  my  transgression,  this  may  be  my  last; 
Infirmities  without,  and  fears  within, 
Foretell  the  consummating  stroke  of  sin; 
The  hour,  the  place,  the  form  to  me  unknown, 
But  God,  who  lent  me  life,  will  claim  his  own ; 
Then,  lest  I  sink  as  suddenly  in  death 
As  quicken'd  into  being  hy  his  breath, 
Once  more  I  climb'd  these  rocks  with  weary  pace, 
And  but  once  more,  to  view  my  native  place, 
To  bid  yon  garden  of  delight  fareAvell, 
The  earthly  Paradise  from  which  I  fell. 
This  mantle,  Enoch  !  which  I  yearly  wear 
To  mark  the  day  of  penitence  and  prayer, — ' 
These 'skins,  the  covering  of  my  first  offence, 
When,  conscious  of  departed  innocence, 
Naked  and  trembling  from  my  Judge  I  fled,: 
A  hand  of  mercy  o'er  my  vileness  spread  ; — 
Enoch!  this  mantle  thus  vouchsafed  to  me, 
At  my  dismission  I  bequeath  to  thee  ; 
Wear  it  in  sad  memorial  on  this  day, 
And  yearly  at  mine  earliest  altar  slay 
A  lamb  immaculate,  whose  blood  be  spilt 
In  sign  of  wrath  removed  and  cancell'd  guilt: 
So  be  the  sins  of  all  my  race  confest, 
So  on  their  heads  may  peace  and  pardon  rest.' 


THE   WORLD    BETORE    THE    FLOOD.  145 

— Thus  spake  our  Sire,  and  down  the  steep  descent, 
With  strengthen'd  heart,  and  fearless  footstep  went: 

0  Javan  !  when  we  parted  at  his  door. 

1  loved  him  as  I  never  loved  before. 

"  Ere  noon,  returning  to  his  bower,  I  found 
Our  father  labouring  in  his  harvest  ground, 
(For  yet  he  till'd  a  little  plot  of  soil, 
Patient  and  pleased  with  voluntary  toil) ; 
But  oh  how  changed  from  him  whose  morning  eye 
Outshone  the  star  that  told  the  sun  was  nigh  ! 
Loose  in  his  feeble  grasp  the  sickle  shook ; 
I  mark'd  tht-  ghastly  dolour  of  his  look, 
And  ran  to  help  him  ;  but  his  latest  strength 
Fail'd; — prone  upon  his  sheaves  he  fell  at  length: 
I  strove  to  raise  him ;  sight  and  sense  were  fled, 
Nerveless  his  limbs,  and  backward  sway'd  his  head. 
Seth  pass'd  ;  I  call'd  him,  and  we  bore  our  Sire 
To  neighbouring  shades  from  noon's  afflictive  fire  : 
Ere  long  he  woke  to  feeling,  with  a  sigh, 
And  half  unclosed  his  hesitating  eye  ; 
Strangely  and  timidly  he  peor'd  around, 
Like  men  in  dreams  whom  sudden  lights  confound : 
— '  Is  this  a  new  Creation  ? — Have  I  pass'd 
The  bitterness  of  death  ?' — He  look'd  aghast, 
Then  sorrowful ! — '  No  ;  men  and  trees  appear; 

'Tis  not  a  new  Creation — pain  is  here  : 

From  Sin's  dominion  is  there  no  release? 

Lord ;  let  thy  Servant  now  depart  in  peace.' 

— Hurried  remembrance  crowding  o'er  his  s;  I 

He  knew  us  ;  tears  of  consternation  stole 

Down  his  pale  cheeks:— 'Seth!— Enoch!— Where  s  Eve? 

How  could  the  spouse  her  dying  consort  leave  ?' 
"Eve  look'd  that  moment  from  their  cottage-door 

In  quest  of  Adam,  where  he  toil'd  before  ; 

He  was  not  there ;  she  call'd  him  by  his  name ; 

Sweet  to  his  ear  the  well-known  accents  came  ; 

— •  Here  am  I,'  answer'd  he,  in  tone  so  weak, 

That  we  who  held  him  scarcely  heard  him  speak 

vor..  i.  13 


148  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

But,  resolutely  bent  to  rise,  in  vain 

He  struggled  till  he  swoon'd  away  with  pain. 

Eve  call'd  again,  and,  turning  towards  the  shade, 

Helpless  as  infancy,  beheld  him  laid  ; 

She  sprang,  as  smitten  with  a  mortal  wound, 

Forward,  and  cast  herself  upon  the  ground 

At  Adam's  feet ;  half  rising  in  despair, 

Him  from  our  arms  she  wildly  strove  to  tear,; 

Repell'd  by  gentle  violence,  she  press'd 

His  powerless  hand  to  her  convulsive  breast, 

And  kneeling,  bending  o'er  him,  full  of  fears, 

Warm  on  his  bosom  shower'd  her  silent  tears. 

Light  to  his  eyes  at  that  refreshment  came, 

They  open'd  on  her  in  a  transient  flame  ; 

— 'And  art  thou  here,  my  Life  !  my  Love  !'  he  cried 

•Faithful  in  death  to  this  congenial  side  ? 

Thus  let  me  bind  thee  to  my  breaking  heart, 

Qne  dear,  one  bitter  moment,  ere  we  part.' 

— 'Leave  me  not,  Adam !  leave  me  not  belcw; 

With  thee  I  tarry,  or  with  thee  I  go,' 

She  said,  and  yielding  to  his  faint  embrace, 

Clung  round  his  neck,  and  wept  upon  his  face. 

Alarming  recollection  soon  return'd, 

His  fever'd  frame  with  growing  anguish  burn'd : 

Ah  !  then,  as  Nature's  tenderest  impulse  wrought, 

With  fond  solicitude  of  love  she  sought 

To  soothe  his  limbs  upon  their  grassy  bed, 

And  make  the  pillow  easy  to  his  head, 

She  wiped  his  reeking  temples  with  her  hair; 

She  shook  the  leaves  to  stir  the  sleeping  air ; 

Moisten'd  his  lips  with  kisses :  with  her  breath 

Vainly  essay'd  to  quell  the  fire  of  Death, 

That  ran  and  revell'd  through  his  swollen  veins 

With  quicker  pulses,  and  severer  pains. 

"The  sun,  in  summer  majesty  on  high, 
Darted  his  fierce  effulgence  down  the  sky; 
Yet  dimm'd  and  blunted  were  the  dazzling  rays, 
His  orb  expanded  through  a  dreary  haze, 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.  WT 

And,  circled  with  a  red,  portentous  zone, 

He  look'd  in  sickly  horror  f-om  his  throne : 

The  vital  air  was  still ;  the  torrid  heat 

Oppressed  our  hearts,  that  Jabour'd  hard  to  beat. 

When  higher  noon  had  shrunk  the  lessening-  shade. 

Thence  to  his  home  our  father  we  convey'd, 

And  stretch'd  him,  pillow'd  with  his  latest  sheaves, 

On  a  fresh  cbuch  of  green  and  fragrant  leaves. 

Here,  though  his  sufferings  through  the  glen  were  known. 

We  chose  to  watch  his  dying  bed  alone, 

Eve,  Seth,  and  I.- In  vain  he  sigh'd  for  rest, 

And  oft  his  meek  complainings  thus  express'd  : 

— 'Blow  on  me,  Wind  !  I  faint  with  heat !  oh  bring 

Delicious  water  from  the  deepest  spring ; 

Your  sunless  shadows  o'er  my  limbs  diffuse, 

Ye  Cedars !  wash  me  cold  with  midnight  dews. 

— Cheer  me,  my  friends  !  with  looks  of  kindness  cheer; 

Whisper  a  word  of  comfort  in  mine  ear; 

Those  sorrowing  faces  fill  my  soul  with  gloom, 

This  silence  is  the  silence  of  the  tomb. 

Thither  I  hasten  ;  help  me  on  my  way; 

O  sing  to  soothe  me,  and  to  strengthen  pray !' 

We  sang  to  soothe  him, — hopeless  was  the  song; 

We  pray'd  to  strengthen  him, — he  grew  not  strong. 

In  vain  from  every  herb,  and  fruit,  and  flower, 

Of  cordial  sweetness,  or  of  healing  power, 

We  press'd  the  virtue;  no  terrestrial  balm 

Nature's  dissolving  agony  could  calm. 

Thus,  as  the  day  declined,  the  fell  disease 

Eclipsed  the  light  of  life  by  slow  degrees : 

Yet  while  his  pangs  grew  sharper,  more  resign'd. 

More  self-collected  grew  the  sufferer's  mind; 

Patient  of  heart,  though  rack'd  at  every  pore, 

The  righteous  penalty  of  sin  he  bore  ; 

Not  his  the  fortitude  that  mocks  at  pains, 

But  that  which  feels  them  most,  and  yet  sustains 

— '  'Tis  just,  'tis  merciful,'  we  heard  him  say; 

'Yet  wherefore  hath  he  turn'd  his  face  away* 


48  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

I  see  Him  not ;  I  near  Him  not ;  I  call ; 
My  God  !  my  God  !  support  me,  or  I  fall.' 

"  The  sun  went  down  amidst  an  angry  glare 
Of  flushing  clouds,  that  crimson'd  all  the  air; 
The  winds  brake  loose  ;  the  forest  boughs  were  torn, 
And  dark  aloof  the  eddying  foliage  borne ; 
Cattle  to  shelter  scudded  in  affright ; 
The  florid  evening  vanish'd  into  night: 
Then  burst  the  hurricane  upon  the  vale, 
In  peals  of  thunder,  and  thick-vollied  hail; 
Prone  rushing  rains  with  torrents  whelrn'd  the  land, 
Our  cot  amidst  a  river  seem'd  to  stand  ; 
Around  its  base,  the  foamy-crested  streams 
Flash'd  through  the  darkness  to  the  lightning  5  gleams, 
With  monstrous  throes  an  earthquake  heaved  the  ground, 
The  rocks  were  rent,  the  mountains  trembled  round  ; 
Never  since  Nature  into  being  came, 
Had  such  mysterious  motion  shook  her  frame  i 
We  thought,  ingulf'd  in  floods,  or  wrapt  in  fire, 
The  world  itself  would  perish  with  our  Sire. 

"Amidst  this  war  of  elements,  within 
More  dreadful  grew  the  sacrifice  of  sin, 
Whose  victim  on  his  bed  of  torture  lay, 
Breathing  the  slow  remains  of  life  away. 
Erewhlle,  victorious  faith  sublimer  rose 
Beneath  the  pressure  of  collected  woes: 
But  now  his  spirit  waver'd,  went  and  came, 
Like  the  loose  vapour  of  departing  flame, 
Till  at  the  point,  when  comfort  seem'd  to  die 
For  ever  in  his  fix'd,  unclosing  eye. 
Bright  through  the  smouldering  ashes  of  the  man 
The  saint  brake  forth,  and  Adam  thus  began  : 

" — '  O  ye,  that  shudder  at  this  awful  strife, 
This  wrestling  agony  of  Death  and  Life, 
Think  not  that  He,  on  whom  my  soul  is  cast, 
Will  leave  me  thus  forsaken  to  the  last ; 
Nature's  infirmity  alone  you  see  ; 
My  chains  are  breaking,  I  shall  soon  be  free ; 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  149 

Though  firm  in  God  the  Spirit  holds  her  trust, 
The  flesh  is  frail,  and  trembles  into  dust. 
Horror  and  anguish  seize  me  ; — 'tis  the  hour 
Of  darkness,  and  I  mourn  beneath  its  power; 
The  Tempter  plies  me  with  his  direst  art, 
I  feel  the  Serpent  coiling  round  my  heart; 
He  stirs  the  wound  he  once  inflicted  there, 
Instils  the  deadening  poison  of  despair, 
Belies  the  truth  of  God's  delaying  grace, 
And  bids  me  curse  my  Maker  to  his  face. 
— I  will  not  curse  Him,  though  his  grace  delay 
I  will  not  cease  to  trust  Him,  though  He  slay; 
Full  on  his  promised  mercy  I  rely, 
For  God  hath  spoken, — God,  who  cannot  lie. 
— THOU,  of  my  faith  the  Author  and  the  End  ! 
Mine  early,  late,  and  everlasting  Friend  ! 
The  joy,  that  once  thy  presence  gave,  restore 
Ere  I  am  summon'd  hence,  and  seen  no  more: 
Down  to  the  dust  returns  this  earthly  frame, 
Receive  my  Spirit,  Lord  !  from  whom  it  came  ; 
Rebuke  the  Tempter,  show  thy  power  to  save, 
O  let  thy  glory  light  me  to  the  grave, 
That  these,  who  witness  my  departing  breath, 
May  learn  to  triumph  in  the  grasp  of  Death.' 

"  He  closed  his  eyelids  with  a  tranquil  smile, 
And  seem'd  to  rest  in  silent  prayer  awhile  : 
Around  his  couch  with  filial  awe  we  kneel'd, 
When  suddenly  a  light  from  heaven  reveal'd 
A  Spirit,  that  stood  within  the  unopen'd  door; — 
The  sword  of  God  in  his  right  hand  he  bore ; 
His  countenance  was  lightning,  and  his  vest 
Like  snow  at  sunrise  on  the  mountain's  crest; 
Yet  so  benignly  beautiful  his  form, 
His  presence  still'd  the  fury  of  the  storm; 
At  once  the  winds  retire,  the  waters  cease  ; 
His  look  was  love,  his  salutation  '  Peace  !' 

"Our  mother  first  beheld  him,  sore  amazed, 
But  terror  grew  to  transport  while  she  gazed  : 

13* 


150  THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD. 

— ''Tis  He,  the  Prince  of  Seraphim,  who  drove 

Our  banish'd  feet  from  Eden's  happy  grove  ;* 

Adam,  my  Life,  my  Spouse,  awake  !'  she  cried; 

'Return  to  Paradise  ;  behold  thy  Guide  ! 

O  let  me  follow  in  this  dear  embrace  !' 

She  sunk,  and  on  his  bosom  hid  her  face. 

Adam  look'd  up;  his  visage  changed  its  hue, 

•Transform'd  into  an  angel's  at  the  view: 

'I  come  !'  he  cried,  with  faith's  full  triumph  fired, 

And  in  a  sigh  of  ecstasy  expired. 

The  light  was  vanish'd,  and  the  vision  fled; 

We  stood  alone,  the  living  with  the  dead  ; 

The  ruddy  embers,  glimmering  round  the  room, 

Display'd  the  corpse  amidst  the  solemn  gloom  ; 

But  o'er  the  scene  a  holy  calm  reposed, 

The  gate  of  heaven  had  open'd  there,  and  closed. 

"Eve's  faithful  arm  still  clasp'd  her  lifeless  Spouse  ; 
Gently  I  shook  it  from  her  trance  to  rouse  ; 
She  gave  no  answer;  motionless  and  cold, 
It  fell  like  clay  from  my  relaxing  hold  ; 
Alarm'd,  I  lifted  up  the  locks  of  gray 
That  hid  her  cheek;  her  soul  had  pass'd  away: 
A  beauteous  corse  she  graced  her  partner's  side, 
Love  bound  their  lives,  and  Death  could  not  divide. 

"Trembling  astonishment  of  grief  we  felt, 
Till  Nature's  sympathies  began  to  melt; 
We  wept  in  stillness  through  the  long,  dark  night; 
—And  oh  how  welcome  was  the  morning  light !" 

*  Paradise  Lost,  book  zi.  v.  238. 


/'///•  fytJur  lir.f  /VvtaiW  4i/n  ,  .»w  ttfmisYtl 

/,'///  /*VTV'/~  ..'irmr  /*•  (r,in+-f»t>t'f '.  *,',n's   .&*•  f/iiiffit 

rhf  M;*rt',j  tiffitrf  fhs  tuw  .  t*ttifa  4 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  181 


CANTO  FIFTH. 

TTie  Burying -place  of  the  Patriarchs — The  Sacrifice  on  the  Anniversary  of  tht 
Fall  of  Jldam— Enoch's  Prophecy. 

"AND  here,"  said  Enoch,  with  dejected  eye, 
"Behold  the  grave  in  which  our  Parents  lie." 
They  stopp'd,  and  o'er  the  turf-enclosure  wept, 
Where,  side  by  side,  the  First-Created  slept: 
It  seem'd  as  if  a  voice,  with  still  small-sound, 
Heard  in  their  bosoms,  issued  from  that  mound  : 
— "  From  earth  we  came,  arid  we  return'd  to  earth : 
Descendants  !  spare  the  Dust  that  gave  you  birth; 
Though  Death,  the  pain  for  our  transgression  due, 
By  sad  inheritance  we  left  to  you, 
Oh  let  our  Children  bless  us  in  our  grave, 
And  man  forgive  the  wrong  that  God  forgave  !" 

Thence  to  the  altar  Enoch  turn'd  his  face ; 
But  Javan  linger'd  in  that  burying-place, 
A  scene  sequester'd  from  the  haunts  of  men, 
The  loveliest  nook  of  all  that  lovely  glen, 
Where  weary  pilgrims  found  their  last  repose  : 
The  little  heaps  were  ranged  in  comely  rows, 
With  walks  between,  by  friends  and  kindred  trod. 
Who  dress'd  with  duteous  hands  each  hallow'd  sod: 
No  sculptured  monument  was  taught  to  breathe 
His  praises,  whom  the  worm  devour'd  beneath; 
The  high,  ihe  low,  the  mighty,  and  the  fair, 
Equal  in  death,  were  undistinguish'd  there; 
Yet  not  a  hillock  rnoulder'd  near  that  spot, 
By  one  dishonour'd  or  by  all  forgot ; 
To  some  warm  heart,  the  poorest  dust  was  dear, 
From  some  kind  eye,  the  meanest  claim'd  a  tear. 
And  oft  the  living,  by  affection  led, 
Were  wont  to  walk  in  spirit  with  their  dead, 
Where  no  dark  cypress  cast  a  doleful  gloom, 
No  blighting  yew  shed  poison  o'er  the  tomb, 


15*  THE   WORLD    BEFORE   THE    FLOOD. 

But,  white  and  red  with  intermingling-  flowers, 
The  graves  look'd  beautiful  in  sun  and  showers. 
Green  myrtles  fenced  it,  and  beyond  their  bound 
Ran  the  clear  rill  with  ever-murmuring  sound  ; 
'Twas  not  a  scene  for  Grief  to  nourish  care, 
It  breathed  of  Hope,  and  moved  the  heart  to  prayer. 

Why  linger'd  Javan  in  that  lorie  retreat  ? 
The  shrine  of  her  that  bare  him  drew  his  feet; 
Trembling  he  sought  it,  fearing  to  behold 
A  bed  of  thistles,  or  unsightly  mould  ; 
But,  lo  !  the  turf,  which  his  own  hands  had  piled, 
With  choicest  flowers,  and  richest  verdure  smiled: 
By  all  the  glen,  his  mother's  couch  of  rest, 
In  his  default,  was  visited  and  blest. 
He  kneel'd,  he  kiss'd  it,  full  of  love  and  woe ; 
His  heart  was  where  his  treasure  lay,  below  ; 
And  long  he  tarried,  ere,  with  heav'nward  eyes, 
He  rose,  and  hasten'd  lo  the  sacrifice. 

Already  on  a  neighbouring  mount,  that  stood 
Apart  amidst  the  valley,  girt  with  wood, 
Whose  open  summit  rising  o'er  the  trees, 
Caught  the  cool  fragrance  of  the  evening  breeze, 
The  Patriarchal  Worshippers  were  met ; 
The  Lamb  was  brought,  the  wood  in  order  set 
On  Adam's  rustic  altar,  moss-o'ergrown, 
An  unwrought  mass  of  earth-embedded  stone, 
Long  known  and  hallow'd,  where,  for  man's  ofFence, 
The  earth  first  drank  the  blood  of  innocence, 
When  God  himself  ordain'd  the  typic  rite 
To  Eden's  Exiles,  resting  on  their  flight. 
Foremost,  amidst  the  group,  was  Enoch  seen, 
Known  by  his  humble  port,  and  heavenly  mien: 
On  him  the  Priest's  mysterious  office  lay, 
For  'twas  the  eve  of  Man's  transgression-day, 
And  him  had  Adam,  with  expiring  breath, 
Ordain'd  to  offer  yearly,  from  his  death. 
A  victim  on  that  mountain,  whence  the  skies 
Had  first  inhaled  the  fumes  of  sacrifice. 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    ^LOOD. 


In  Adam's  coat  of  skins  array'd  he  stands, 
Spreading-  to  heaven  his  supplicating  hands, 
Ere  from  his  robe  the  deadly  steel  he  drew 
To  smite  the  victim,  sporting  in  his  view. 
Behind  him  Seth,  in  majesty  confess'd, 
The  World's  great  Elder,  tovver'd  above  the  rest. 
Serenely  shone  his  sweet  and  solemn  eye, 
Like  the  sun  reigning  in  the  western  sky; 
Though  nine  slow  centuries  by  stealth  had  shed 
Gray  hairs,  the  crown  of  glory,  on  his  head, 
In  hardy  health,  he  rear'd  his  front  sublime, 
Like  the  green  aloe,  in  perennial  prime, 
When  full  of  years  it  shoots  forth  all  its  bloom, 
And  glads  the  forest  through  the  inmost  gloom; 
So,  in  the  blossom  of  a  good  old  age, 
Flourish'd  amidst  his  sons  that  peerless  sa<re. 

Around  him,  in  august  succession,  stood 
The  fathers  of  the  world  before  the  Flood : 
— Enos ;  who  taught  mankind,  on  solemn  days, 
In  sacred  groves,  to  meet  for  prayer  and  praise. 
And  warn'd  idolaters  to  lift  their  eye, 
From  sun  and  stars,  to  him  who  made  the  sky; 
— Canaan  and  Malahel ;  of  whom  alone 
Their  age,  of  all  that  once  they  were,  is  known  : 
— Jared  ;  who,  full  of  hope  beyond  the  tomb, 
Hallow'd  his  offspring  from  the  Mother's  womb, 
And  heaven  received  the  Son  that  Parent  gave, 
He  walk'd  with  God,  and  overstepp'd  the  grave; 
— A  mighty  pilgrim  in  the  vale  of  tears, 
Born  to  the  troubles  of  a  thousand  years, 
Methuselah)  whose  feet  unhalting  ran 
To  the  last  circle  of  the  life  of  man : 
— Lamech  ;  from  infancy  inured  to  toil, 
To  wring  slow  blessings  from  the  accursed  soil, 
Ere  yet  to  dross  his  vineyards,  reap  his  corn, 
And  comfort  him  in  care,  was  Noah  born, 
Who,  in  a  later  age,  by  signal  grace, 
Survived  to  renovate  the  human  race ; 


!J4  THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD. 

Both  worlds,  by  sad  reversion,  were  his  due, 
The  Orphan  of  the  old,  the  Father  of  the  new. 
These,  with  their  families,  on  either  hand, 
Aliens  and  exiles  in  their  native  land, 
The  few  who  loved  their  Maker  from  their  youth, 
And  worshipp'd  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth  : 
These  stood  with  Enoch  : — all  had  fix'd  their  eyes 
On  him,  and  on  the  Lamb  of  sacrifice, 
For  now  with  trembling  hand  he  shed  the  blood, 
And  placed  the  slaughter' d  victim  on  the  wood ; 
Then  kneeling,  as  the  sun  went  down,  he  laid 
His  hand  upon  the  hallovv'd  pyre  and  pray'd: — 
"  Maker  of  heaven  and  earth  !  supreme  o'er  all 
That  live,  and  move,  and  breathe,  on  Thee  \ve  call : 
Our  father  sinn'd  and  sufFer'd ; — we,  who  bear 
Our  father's  image,  his  transgression  share  ; 
Humbled  for  his  offences,  and  our  own, 
Thou,  who  art  holy,  wise,  and  just  alone, 
Accept,  with  free  confession  of  our  guilt, 
This  victim  slain,  this  blood  devoutly  spilt, 
While  through  the  veil  of  sacrifice  we  see 
Thy  mercy  smiling,  and  look  up  to  Thee  ; 
Oh  grant  forgiveness  ;  power  and  grace  are  thine  ; 
God  of  salvation  !  cause  thy  face  to  shine  ; 
Hear  us  in  heaven  !  fulfil  our  souls'  desire, 
God  of  our  father !  answer  now  with  fire." 

He  rose  ;  no  light  from  heaven  around  him  shone, 
No  fire  descended  from  the  eternal  throne  : 
Cold  on  the  pile  the  offer'd  victim  lay, 
Amidst  the  stillness  of  expiring  day; 
The  eyes  of  all  that  watch'd  in  vain  to  view 
The  wonted  sign,  distractedly  withdrew; 
Fear  clipp'd  their  breath,  their  doubling  pulses  raised, 
And  each  by  stealth  upon  his  neighbour  gazed; 
From  heart  to  heart  a  strange  contagion  ran, 
A  shuddering  instinct  crowded  man  to  man  ; 
Even  Seth  with  secret  consternation  shook, 
And  cast  on  Enoch  an  imploripg  look. 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  155 

Enoch,  in  whose  sublime,  unearthly  mien, 

No  change  of  hue,  no  cloud  of  care  was  seen, 

Full  on  the  mute  assembly  turn'd  his  face, 

Clear  as  the  sun  prepared  to  run  his  race  : 

He  spoke;  his  words,  with  awful  warning  fraught, 

Rallied  and  fix'd  the  scalter'd  powers  of  thought. 

"  Men,  brethren,  fathers  !  wherefore  do  you  fear? 
Hath  God  departed  from  us  ?— God  is  here  ; 
Present  in  every  heart,  with  sovereign  power, 
He  tries,  he  proves  his  people  in  this  hour ; 
Naked  as  light  to  his  all-searching  eye, 
The  thoughts  that  wrong,  the  doubts  that  tempt  Him  lie ; 
Yet  slow  to  anger,  merciful  as  just, 
He  knows  our  frame,  remembers  we  are  dust, 
And  spares  our  weakness: — in  his  truth  believe, 
Hope  against  hope,  and  ask  till  ye  receive. 
What  though  no  flame  on  Adam's  altar  burn, 
No  signal  of  acceptance  yet  return, 
God  is  not  man,  who  to  our  father  swore, 
All  times,  in  every  place,  to  answer  prayer ;    . 
He  cannot  change  ;  though  heaven  and  earth  decay, 
The  word  of  God  shall  never  pass  away. 

"  But  mark  the  season  : — from  the  rising  sun, 
Westward  the  race  of  Cain  the  world  o'er-run  ; 
Their  monarch,  mightiest  of  the  sons  of  men, 
Hath  sworn  destruction  to  the  Patriarchs'  glen ; 
Hither  he  hastens;  carnage  strews  his  path; 

Who  will  await  the  giant  in  his  wrath? 

Or  who  will  take  the  wings  of  silent  night, 
And  seek  deliverance  from  his  sword  by  flight? 
Thus  saith  the  Lord  : — Ye  weak  of  faith  and  heart! 
Who  dare  not  trust  the  living  God,  depart ; 
The  angel  of  his  presence  leads  your  way, 
Your  lives  are  safe,  and  given  you  as  a  prey : 
But  ye,  who,  unappall'd  at  earthly  harm, 
Lean  on  the  strength  of  his  Almighty  arm  ; 
Prepared  for  life  or  death,  with  firm  accord, 
—Stand  still,  and  see  the  glory  of  the  Lord." 


156  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

A  pause,  a  dreary  pause  ensued: — then  cried 
The  holy  man, — "  On  either  hand  divide  ; 
The  feeble  fly  ;  with  me  the  valiant  stay  ; 
Choose  now  your  portion  ;  whom  will  ye  obey, 
God  or  your  fears  ?  His  counsel  or  your  own  ?" 
— "  The  LORD  ;  the  LORD  ;  for  HE  is  GOD  ALONE  !" 
Exclaim'd  at  once,  with  consentaneous  choice, 
The  whole  assembly,  heart,  and  sonl,  and  voice. 
Then  light  from  heaven  with  sudden  beauty  came, 
Pure  on  the  altar  blazed  the  unkindled  flame, 
And  upwards  to  their  glorious  source  return'd 
The  sacred  fires  in  which  the  victim  burn'd  : 
While  through  the  evening  gloom,  to  distant  eyes 
Morn  o'er  the  Patriarchs'  mountains  seem'd  to  rise. 

Awe-struck  the  congregation  kneel'd  around, 
And  worshipp'd  with  their  faces  to  the  ground  ; 
The  peace  of  God,  beyond  expression  sweet, 
Fill'd  every  spirit  humbled  at  his  feet, 
And  love,  joy,  wonder,  deeply  mingling  there, 
Drew  from  the  heart  unutterable  prayer. 

They  rose  ; — as  if  his  soul  had  pass'd  away, 
Prostrate  before  the  altar  Enoch  lay, 
Entranced  so  deeply  all  believed  him  dead  : 
At  length  he  breathed,  he  moved,  he  raised  his  head; 
To  heaven  in  ecstasy  he  turn'd  his  eyes ; 
—  With  such  a  look  the  dead  in  Christ  shall  rise, 
When  the  last  trumpet  calls  them  from  the  dust, 
To  join  the  resurrection  of  the  just : — 
Yea,  and  from  earthly  grossness  so  refined, 
(As  if  the  soul  had  left  the  flesh  behind, 
Yet  wore  a  mortal  semblance,)  upright  stood 
The  great  Evangelist  before  the  Flood  ; 
On  him  the  vision  of  the  Almighty  broke, 
And  future  times  were  present  while  he  spoke.* 
"The  Saints  shall  suffer;  righteousness  shall  fail; 
O'er  all  the  world  iniquity  prevail; 

*  Numbers  xxiv.  4. 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.  157 

Giants,  in  fierce  contempt  of  man  and  God, 

Shall  rule  the  nations  with  an  iron  rod  ; 

On  every  mountain  idol  groves  shall  rise, 

And  darken  heaven  with  human  sacrifice; 

But  God,  the  Avenger,  comes, — a  judgment-day, 

A  flood,  shall  sweep  his  enemies  away. 

How  few,  whose  eyes  shall  then  have  seen  the  sun, 

— One  righteous  family,  and  only  one, — 

Saved  from  that  wreck  of  Nature,  shall  behold 

The  new  Creation  rising  from  the  old  ! 

"Oh  that  the  world  of  wickedness,  destroy'd, 
Might  live  for  ever  without  form  and  void  ! 
Or  that  the  earth,  to  innocence  restored, 
Might  flourish  as  the  garden  of  the  Lord  ! 
It  will  not  be  : — among  the  sons  of  men, 
The  Giant-Spirit  will  go  forth  again, 
From  clime  to  clime  shall  kindle  murderous  rage, 
And  spread  the  plague  of  sin  from  age  to  age ; 
Yet  shall  the  God  of  mercy,  from  above, 
Extend  the  golden  sceptre  of  his  love, 
And  win  the  rebels  to  his  righteous  sway, 
Till  every  mouth  confess,  and  heart  obey. 

"Amidst  the  visions  of  ascending  years, 
What  mighty  Chief,  what  Conqueror  appears  ;* 
His  garments  roll'd  in  blood,  his  eyes  of  flame, 
And  on  his  thigh  the  unutterable  name  ?t 
— ' 'Tis  I  that  bring  deliverance  :  strong  to  save, 
I  pluck'd  the  prey  from  death,  and  spoiPd  the  grave.' 
— Wherefore,  O  Warrior!  are  thy  garments  red, 
Like  those  whose  feet  amidst  the  vintage  tread  ? 
— '  I  trod  the  wine-press  of  the  field  alone  ; 
I  look'd  around  for  succour;  there  was  none;  . 

Therefore  my  wrath  sustain'd  me  while  I  fought, 
And  mine  own  arm  my  Saints'  salvation  wrought.' 
— Thus  may  thine  arm  for  evermore  prevail; 
Thus  may  thy  foes,  O  Lord  !  for  ever  fail ; 

*  IM.  liiil.  1—6.  t  Rev.  six.  12. 

VOL.  I.  H 


158  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Captive  by  thee  captivity  be  led  ; 
Seed  of  the  woman  !  bruise  the  serpent's  head; 
Redeemer!  promised  since  the  world  began, 
Bow  the  high  heavens,  and  condescend  to  man. 

"Hail  to  the  Day-spring;  dawning  from  afar, 
Bright  in  the  east  I  see  his  natal  star: 
Prisoners  of  hope  !  lift  up  your  joyful  eyes  ; 
Welcome  the  King  of  Glory  from  the  skies  : 
Who  is  the  King  of  Glory? — Mark  his  birth  : 
In  deep  humility  he  stoops  to  earth, 
Assumes  a  servant's  form,  a  Pilgrim's  lot, 
Comes  to  his  own,  his  own  receive  him  not, 
Though  angel-choirs  his  peaceful  advent  greet, 
And  Gentile  sages  worship  at  his  feet. 

"Fair  as  that  sovereign  Plant,  whose  scions  shoot 
With  healing  verdure,  and  immortal  fruit, 
The  Tree  of  Life,  beside  the  stream  that  laves 
The  fields  of  Paradise  with  gladdening  waves  ; 
Behold  him  rise  from  infancy  to  youth, 
The  Father's  image,  full  of  grace  and  truth; 
Tried,  tempted,  proved  in  secret,  till  the  hour, 
When,  girt  with  meekness,  but  array'd  with  power 
Forth  u)  the  spirit  of  the  Lord  at  length, 
Like  the  sun  shining  in  meridian  strength, 
He  goes: — to  preach  good  tidings  to  the  poor; 
To  heal  the  wounds  that  nature  cannot  cure ; 
To  bind  the  broken-hearted  ;  to  control 
Disease  and  death  ;  to  raise  the  sinking  soul: 
Unbar  the  dungeon,  set  the  captive  free, 
Proclaim  the  joyous  year  of  liberty, 
And,  from  the  depth  of  undiscover'd  night, 
Bring  life  and  immortality  to  light. 

"How  beauteous  on  the  mountains  are  thy  feet, 
Thy  form  how  comely,  and  thy  voice  how  sweet, 
Son  of  the  Highest ! — Who  can  tell  thy  fame  ? 
The  Deaf  shall  hear  it  while  the  Dumb  proclaim! 
Now  bid  the  Blind  behold  their  Saviour's  light, 
The  Lame  go  forth  rejoicing  in  their  might ; 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.       .  159 

Cleanse  with  a  touch  yon  kneeling  Leper's  skin  ; 
Cheer  this  pale  Penitent,  forgive  her  sin  ; 
Oh,  for  that  Mother's  faith,  her  Daughter  spare  ; 
Restore  the  Maniac  to  a  Father's  prayer ; 
Pity  the  tears  those  mournful  Sisters  shed, 
And  BE  THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  DEAD  ! 

"  What  scene  is  this  ? — Amidst  involving  gloom 
The  moonlight  lingers  on  a  lonely  tomb; 
No  noise  disturbs  the  garden's  hallow'd  bound, 
But  the  watch  walking  on  their  midnight  round  : 
Ah  !  who  lies  here,  with  marr'd  and  bloodless  mien, 
In  whom  no  form  or  comeliness  is  seen  ; 
His  livid  limbs  with  nails  and  scourges  torn, 
His  side  transpierced,  his  temples  wreathed  with  thorn  ? 
'Tis  He,  the  Man  of  Sorrows  !    He  who  bore 
Our  sins  and  chastisement: — His  toils  are  o'er; 
On  earth  erewhile  a  suffering  life  he  led, 
Here  hath  he  found  a  place  to  lay  his  head  ; 
Rank'd  with  transgressors  he  resign'd  his  breath, 
But  with  the  rich  he  made  his  bed  in  death. 
Sweet  is  the  grave  where  Angels  watch  and  weep; 
Sweet  is  the  grave,  and  sanctified  his  sleep ; 
Rest,  O  my  spirit !  by  this  martyr'd  form, 
This  wreck,  that  sunk  beneath  the  Almighty  storm, 
When  floods  of  wrath  that  weigh'd  the  world  to  hell, 
On  him  alone  in  righteous  vengeance  fell ; 
While  men  derided,  demons  urged  his  woes, 
And  God  forsook  him, — till  the  awful  close; 
Then,  in  triumphant  agony,  he  cried, 
— ''Tis  fmish'd  !' — bow'd  his  sacred  head,  and  died. 
Death,  as  he  struck  that  noblest  victim,  found 
His  sting  was  lost  for  ever  in  the  wound  ; 
The  Grave,  that  holds  his  corse,  her  richest  prize, 
Shall  yield  him  back,  victorious,  to  the  skies. 
He  lives:  ye  bars  of  steel !   ye  gates  of  brass ! 
Give  way  and  let  the  King  of  Glory  pass  : — 
He  lives  :  ye  golden  portals  of  the  spheres  ! 
Open,  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  appears. 


- — —    i 


160  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

But,  ah  !  my  spirit  faints  beneath  the  blaze, 
That  breaks,  and  brightens  o'er  the  latter  days, 
When  every  tongue  his  trophies  shall  proclaim, 
And  every  knee  shall  worship  at  his  name  ; 
For  he  shall  reign  with  undivided  power, 
To  Earth's  last  bounds,  to  Nature's  final  hour. 

"  'Tis  done  : — again  the  conquering  Chief  appears 
In  the  dread  vision  of  dissolving  years  ; 
His  vesture  dipp'd  in  blood,  his  eyes  of  flame, 
The  WORD  OF  GOD  his  everlasting  name  ;* 
*  Throned  in  mid-heaven,  with  clouds  of  glory  spread, 
He  sits  in  judgment  on  the  quick  and  dead  ; 
Strong  to  deliver  ;  Saints  !  your  songs  prepare  ; 
Rush  from  your  tombs  to  meet  him  in  the  air : 
But  terrible  in  vengeance  ;  Sinners  !  bowf 
Your  haughty  heads,  the  grave  protects  not  now : 
He  who  alone  in  mortal  conflict  trod 
The  mighty  wine-press  of  the  wrath  of  God, 
Shall  fill  the  cup  of  trembling  to  his  foes, 
The  unmingled  cup  of  inexhausted  woes ; 
The  proud  shall  drink  it  in  that  dreadful  day, 
While  earth  dissolves,  and  heaven  is  roll'd  away." 

Here  ceased  the  Prophet ; — from  the  altar  broke 
The  last  dim  wreaths  of  fire-illumined  smoke ; 
Darkness  had  fallen  around ;  but  o'er  the  streams 
The  Moon,  new-ris'n,  diffused  her  brightening  beams; 
Homeward,  with  tears,  the  worshippers  return'd, 
Yet  while  they  wept  their  hearts  within  them  burn'd. 

*  Rev.  six.  13  Jude  14—16. 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.  1«1 


CANTO  SIXTH. 

Japan's  second  Interview  vith  Zillah-ffe  visits  the  various  Dwelling  *«ttmA 
throughout  the  Glen,  and  in  the  Evening  sinps  to  his  Harp,  amidst  the  assembled 
Inhabitants  .—Address  to  Twiliffht;  Jubal's  Song  of  the  Creation-the  Pouer 
of  Music  exemplified. 

SPENT  with  the  toils  of  that  eventful  day, 
All  night  in  dreamless  slumber  Javan  lay  ; 
But  early  springing  from  his  bed  of  leaves, 
Waked  by  the  songs  of  swallows  on  the  eaves, 
From  Enoch's  cottage,  in  the  cool,  gray  hour, 
He  wander'd  forth  to  Zillah's  woodland  bower; 
There,  in  his  former  covert,  on  the  ground, 
The  frame  of  his  forsaken  harp  he  found : 
He  smote  the  boss ;  the  convex  orb  unstrung, 
Instant  with  sweet  reverberation  rung ; 
The  minstrel  smiled,  at  that  sonorous  stroke, 
To  find  the  spell  of  harmony  unbroke  ; 
Trickling  with  dew,  he  bore  it  to  the  cell; 
There,  as  with  leaves  he  dried  the  sculptured  shell, 
He  thought  of  Zillah,  and  resolved  too  late 
To  plead  his  constancy,  and  know  his  fate. 

She  from  the  hour,  when,  in  a  pilgrim's  guise, 
Javan  return'd,— a  stranger  to  her  eyes, 
Not  to  her  heart, — from  anguish  knew  no  rest, 
Love,  pride,  resentment,  struggling  in  her  breast. 
All  day  she  strove  to  hide  her  misery, 
In  vain  : — a  mother's  eye  is  quick  to  see, 
Slow  to  rebuke  a  daughter's  bashful  fears, 
And  Zillah's  mother  only  chid  with  tears: 
Night  came,  but  Javan  came  not  with  the  night , 
Light  vanish'd,  Hope  departed  with  the  light; 
Her  lonely  couch  conceal'd  her  sleepless  woes, 
But  with  the  morning  star  the  maiden  rose. 
The  soft  refreshing  breeze,  the  orient  beams, 
The  dew,  the  mist  unrolling  from  the  streams. 


14- 


16*  THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 

The  light,  the  joy,  the  music  of  the  hour, 

Stole  on  her  spirit  with  resistless  power, 

With  healing-  sweetness  soothed  her  fever'd  brain, 

And  woke  the  pulse  of  tenderness  again. 

Thus  while  she  wander'd,  with  unconscious  feet, 

Absent  in  thought  she  reach'd  her  sylvan  seat : 

The  youth  descried  her  not  amidst  the  wood, 

Till,  like  a  vision,  at  his  side  she  stood. 

Their  eyes  encounter' d ;  both  at  once  exclaim'd, 

"  Javan  !"  and  "  Zillah  !"— each  the  other  named  ; 

Those  sounds  were  life  or  death  to  either  heart ; 

He  rose  ;  she  turn'd  in  terror  to  depart ; 

He  caught  her  hand  : — "  Oh  do  not,  do  not  flee  !" 

—It  was  a  moment  of  eternity, 

And  now  or  never  must  he  plight  his  vow, 

Win  or  abandon  her  for  ever  now. 

"  Stay  : — hear  me,  Zillah  ! — every  power  above, 
Heaven,  earth,  thyself,  bear  witness  to  my  love  ! 
Thee  have  I  loved  from  earliest  infancy, 
Loved  with  supreme  affection  only  thee. 
Long  in  these  shades  my  timid  passion  grew, 
Through  every  change,  in  every  trial  true  ; 
I  loved  thee  through  the  world  in  dumb  despair. 
Loved  thee,  that  I  might  love  no  other  fair ; 
Guilty,  yet  faithful  still,  to  thee  I  fly, 
Receive  me,  love  me,  Zillah !  or  I  die." 

Thus  Javan's  lips,  so  long  in  silence  seal'd, 
With  sudden  vehemence  his  soul  reveal'd  ; 
Zillah  meanwhile  recover'd  power  to  speak, 
While  deadly  paleness  overcast  her  cheek  : 
— "Say  not,  'I  love  thee  !' — Witness  every  tree 
Around  this  bower,  thy  cruel  scorn  of  me  ! 
Could  Javan  love  me  through  the  world,  yet  leave 
Her  whom  he  loved,  for  hopeless  years,  to  grieve  ? 
Returning,  could  he  find  her  here  alone, 
Yet  pass  her  by,  unknowing,  as  unknown  ? 
All  day  was  she  forsaken,  or  forgot  ? 
Did  Javan  seek  her  at  her  father's  cot  ? 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  163 

That  cot  of  old  so  n.uch  his  soul's  delight, 
His  mother's  seem'd  not  fairer  in  his  sight : 
No  :  Javan  rnocks  me  ;  none  could  love  so  well, 
So  long,  so  painfully, — and  never  tell." 

"  Love  owns  no  law,"  rejoin'd  the  pleading  youth, 
"Except  obedience  to  eternal  truth: 
Deep  streams  are  silent;  from  the  generous  breast, 
The  dearest  feelings  are  the  last  confest: 
Erewhile  I  strove  in  vain  to  break  my  peace, 
Now  I  could  talk  of  love  and  never  cease  : 
— Still  had  my  trembling  passion  been  conceal'd  ; 
Still  but  in  parables  by  stealth  reveal'd, 
Had  not  thine  instantaneous  presence  wrung, 
By  swift  surprise,  the  secret  from  my  tongue. 
Yet  hath  Affection  language  of  her  own, 
And  mine  in  every  thing  but  words  was  shown  ; 
In  childhood,  as  the  bird  of  nature  free, 
My  song  was  gladness,  when  I  sung  to  thee  : 
In  youth,  whene'er  I  mourn'd  a  bosom  flame, 
And  praised  a  maiden  whom  I  durst  not  name, 
Couldst  thou  not  then  my  hidden  thought  divine? 
Didst  thou  not  feel  that  I  was  wholly  thine? 
When  for  vain  glory  I  forsook  thee  here, 
Dear  as  thou  wert,  unutterably  dear, 
From  virtue,  truth,  and  innocence  estranged, 
To  thee,  thee  only,  was  my  heart  unchanged  ; 
And  as  I  loved  without  a  hope  before, 
Without  a  hope  I  loved  thee  yet  the  more. 
At  length,  when,  weary  of  the  ways  of  men, 
Refuge  I  sought  in  this  maternal  glen, 
Thy  sweet  remembrance  drew  me  from  afar, 
And  Zillah's  beauty  was  my  leading  star. 
Here  whe^n  I  found  thee,  fear  itself  grew  bold, 
Metbought  my  tale  of  love  already  told  ; 
But  soon  thine  eyes  the  dream  of  folly  broke, 
And  I  from  bliss,  as  they  from  slumber,  woke ; 
My  heart,  my  tongue,  were  chilPd  to  instant  stone, 
I  durst  not  speak  thy  name,  nor  give  my  own. 


164  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

When  thou  wert  vanish'd,  horror  and  affright 
Seized  me,  my  sins  uprose  before  my  sight ; 
Like  fiends  they  rush'd  upon  me ;  but  Despair 
Wrung  from  expiring  Faith  a  broken  prayer; 
Strength  came  ;  the  path  to  Enoch's  bower  I  trod  ; 
He  saw  me,  met  me,  led  me  back  to  God. 

0  Zillah  !  while  I  sought  my  Maker's  grace, 
And  flesh  and  spirit  fail'd  before  His  face, 
Thy  tempting  image  from  my  breast  I  drove, 
It  was  no  season  then  for  earthly  love." 

"For  earthly  love  it  is  no  season  now," 
Exclaim'd  the  maiden  with  reproachful  brow, 
And  eyes  through  tears  of  tenderness  that  shone, 
And  voice,  half  peace,  half  anger,  in  its  tone  : 
*'  Freely  thy  past  unkindness  I  forgive  ; 
Content  to  perish  here,  so  Javan  live  ; 
The  tyrant's  menace  to  our  tribe  we  know : 
The  Patriarchs  never  seek,  nor  shun  a  foe  ; 
Thou,  while  thou  may'st,  from  swift  destruction  fly ! 

1  and  my  father's  house  resolve  to  die." 

"  With  thee  and  with  thy  father's  house,  to  bear 
Death  or  captivity,  is  Javan's  prayer ; 
Remorse  for  ever  be  the  recreant's  lot ; 
If  I  forsake  thee  now,  I  love  thee  not." 

Thus  while  he  vow'd,  a  gentle  answer  sprung 
To  Zillah's  lips,  but  died  upon  her  tongue  ; 
Trembling  she  turn'd,  and  hasten'd  to  the  rock, 
Beyond  those  woods,  that  hid  her  folded  flock, 
Whose  blealings  reach'd  her  ear,  with  loud  complaint 
Of  her  delay  ;  she  loosed  them  from  restraint ; 
Then  bounding  headlong  forth,  with  antic  glee, 
They  roam'd  in  all  the  joy  of  liberty. 
Javan  beside  her  walk'd  as  in  a  dream, 
Nor  more  of  love  renew'd  the  fruitless  theme. 

Forthwith  from  home,  to  home,  throughout  the  glen 
The  friends  whom  once  he  knew  he  sought  again; 
Each  hail'd  the  stranger  welcome  at  his  board, 
As  lost  but  found,  as  dead  to  life  restored. 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  105 

From  Eden's  camp  no  tidings  came;  the  day 
In  awful  expectation  pass'd  away. 
At  eve  his  harp  the  fond  enthusiast  strung, 
On  Adam's  mount,  and  to  the  Patriarchs  sung; 
While  youth  and  age,  an  eager  throng,  admire 
The  mingling  music  of  the  voice  and  lyre. 

"I  love  thee,  Twilight !  as  thy  shadows  roll, 
The  calm  of  evening  steals  upon  my  soul, 
Sublimely  tender,  solemnly  serene, 
Still  as  the  hour,  enchanting  as  the  scene. 
I  love  thee,  Twilight!  for  thy  gleams  impart 
Their  dear,  their  dying  influence  to  my  heart, 
When  o'er  the  harp  of  thought  thy  passing  wind 
Awakens  all -the  music  of  the  mind, 
And  Joy  and  Sorrow,  as  the  spirit  burns, 
And  Hope  and  Memory  sweep  the  chords  by  turns, 
While  Contemplation,  on  seraphic  wings, 
Mounts  with  the  flame  of  sacrifice,  and  sings. 
Twilight!  I  love  thee;  let  thy  glooms  increase 
Till  every  feeling,  every  pulse  is  peace ; 
Slow  from  the  sky  the  light  of  day  declines, 
Clearer  within  the  dawn  of  glory  shines, 
Revealing,  in  the  hour  of  Nature's  rest, 
A  world  of  wonders  in  the  poet's  breast ; 
Deeper,  O  Twilight !  then  thy  shadows  roll, 
An  awful  vision  opens  on  rny  soul. 

"On  such  an  evening,  so  divinely  calm, 
The  woods  all  melody,  the  breezes  balm, 
Down  in  a  vale,  where  lucid  waters  stray'd, 
And  mountain-cedars  stretch'd  their  downward  shade* 
Jubal,  the  Prince  of  Song,  (in  youth  unknown,) 
Retired  to  commune  with  his  harp  alone  ; 
For  still  he  nursed  it,  like  a  secret  thought, 
Long  chfrish'd  and  to  late  perfection  wrought;— 
And  still  with  cunning  hand,  and  curious  ear, 
Enrich'd,  ennobled,  and  enlarged  its  sphere. 
Till  he  had  compass'd,  in  that  magic  round, 
A  soul  of  harmony,  a  heaven  of  sound. 


166  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Then  sang  the  minstrel,  in  his  laurel  bower, 

Of  Nature's  origin,  and  music's  power. 

— '  He  spake,  and  it  was  done  ; — Eternal  Night, 

At  God's  command,  awaken'd  into  light; 

He  call'd  the  elements,  Earth,  Ocean,  Air, 

He  call'd  them  when  they  were  not,  and  they  were : 

He  look'd  through  space,  and  kindling  o'er  the  sky, 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  came  forth  to  meet  his  eye : 

His  spirit  moved  upon  the  desert  earth, 

And  sudden  life  through  all  things  swarrn'd  to  birth  ; 

Man  from  the  dust  he  raised  to  rule  the  whole ; 

He  breathed,  and  man  became  a  living  soul : 

Through  Eden's  groves  the  Lord  of  Nature  trod, 

Upright  and  pure,  the  image  of  his  God. 

Thus  were  the  heavens  and  all  their  host  display'd, 

In  wisdom  thus  were  earth's  foundations  laid  ; 

The  glorious  scene  a  holy  Sabbath  closed, 

A.midst  his  works  the  Omnipotent  reposed  ; 

And  while  he  view'd,  and  bless'd  them  from  his  seat, 

All  worlds,  all  beings  worshipp'd  at  his  feet ; 

The  morning  stars  in  choral  concert  sang, 

The  rolling  deep  with  hallelujahs  rang, 

Adoring  angels  from  their  orbs  rejoice, 

The  voice  of  music  was  Creation's  voice. 

"  '  Alone  along  the  lyre  of  Nature  sigh'd 
The  master-chord,  to  which  no  chord  replied: 
For  Man,  while  bliss  and  beauty  reign'd  around, 
For  Man  alone  no  fellowship  was  found, 
No  fond  companion,  in  whose  dearer  breast 
His  heart,  repining  in  his  own,  might  rest; 
For,  born  to  love,  the  heart  delights  to  roam, 
A  kindred  bosom  is  its  happiest  home. 
On  earth's. green  lap,  the  Father  of  mankind, 
In  mild  dejection,  thoughtfully  reclined; 
Soft  o'er  his  eyes  a  sealing  slumber  crept, 
And  Fancy  soothed  him  while  Reflection  slept. 
Then  God — who  thus  would  make  his  counsel  known, 
Counsel  that  will'd  not  man  to  dwell  alone — 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.  1W 

Created  Woman  with  a  smile  of  grace, 

And  left  the  smile  that  made  her  on  her  face. 

The  Patriarch's  eyelids  open'd  on  his  bride, 

— The  morn  of  beauty  risen  from  his  side  ! 

He  gazed  with  new-born  rapture  on  her  charms, 

And  Love's  first  whispers  won  her  to  his  arms, 

Then,  tuned  through  all  the  chords  supremely  sweet, 

Exulting  nature  found  her  lyre  complete, 

And  from  the  key  of  each  harmonious  sphere 

Struck  music  worthy  of  her  Maker's  ear.' 

"  Here  Jubal  paused  ;  for  grim  before  him  lay, 
Couch'd  like  a  lion  watching  for  his  prey, 
With  blood-red  eye  of  fascinating  fire, 
Fix'd,  like  the  gazing  serpent's,  on  the  lyre, 
An  awful  form,  that  through  the  gloom  appear'd, 
Half  brute,  half  human  ;  whose  terrific  beard, 
And  hoary  flakes  of  long,  dishevell'd  hair, 
Like  eagle's  plumage  ruffled  by  the  air, 
Veil'd  a  sad  wreck  of  grandeur  and  of  grace, 
Limbs  worn  and  wounded,  a  majestic  face, 
Deep-plough'd  by  Time,  and  ghastly  pale  with  woes, 
That  goaded  till  remorse  to' madness  rose  ; 
Haunted  by  phantoms,  he  had  fled  his  home, 
With  savage  beasts  in  solitude  to  roam ; 
Wild  as  the  waves,  and  wandering  as  the  wind, 
No  art  could  tame  him,  and  no  chains  could  bind  • 
Already  seven  disastrous  years  had  shed 
Mildew  and  blast  on  his  unshelter'd  head  ; 
His  brain  was  smitten  by  the  sun  at  noon, 
His  heart  was  wither'd  by  the  cold  night-moon. 

"'Twaa  Cain,  the  sire  of  nations  : — Jubal  knew 
His  kindred  looks,  and  tremblingly  withdrew; 
He,  darting  like  a  blaze  of  sudden  fire, 
Leap'd  o'er  the  space  between,  and  grasp'd  the  lyre  : 
Sooner  with  life  the  struggling  bard  would  part, 
And,  ere  the  fier.d  could  tear  it  from  his  heart, 
He  hurl'd  his  hand  with  one  tremendous  stroke, 
O'er  all  the  strings  ;  whence  in  a  whirlwind  broke 


168  THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD. 

Such  tones  of  terror,  dissonance,  despair, 
As  till  that  hour  had  never  jarr'd  in  air. 
Astonish'd  into  marble  at  the  shock, 
Backward  stood  Cain,  unconscious  as  a  rock, 
Cold,  breathless,  motionless  through  all  his  frame ; 
But  soon  his  visage  quicken'd  into  flame, 
When  Jubal's  hand  the  crashing  jargon  changed 
To  melting  harmony,  and  nimbly  ranged 
From  chord  to  chord,  ascending  sweet  and  clear,- 
Then  rolling  down  in  thunder  on  the  ear; 
With  power  the  pulse  of  anguish  to  restrain, 
And  charm  the  evil  spirit  from  the  brain. 

"  Slowly  recovering  from  that  trance  profound, 
Bewilder'd,  touch'd,  transported  with  the  sound, 
Cain  view'd  himself,  the  bard,  the  earth,  the  sky, 
While  wonder  flash'd  and  faded  in  his  eye, 
And  reason,  by  alternate  frenzy  crost, 
Now  seem'd  restored,  and  now  for  ever  lost. 
So  shines  the  moon,  by  glimpses,  through  her  shrouds, 
When  windy  Darkness  rides  upon  the  clouds, 
Till  through  the  blue,  serene,  and  silent  night, 
She  reigns  in  full  tranquillity  of  light. 
Jubal,  with  eager  hope,  beheld  the  chase 
Of  strange  emotions  hurrying  o'er  his  face, 
And  waked  his  noblest  numbers  to  control 
The  tide  and  tempest  of  the  maniac's  soul : 
Through  many  a  maze  of  melody  they  flew, 
They  rose  like  incense,  they  distilPd  like  dew, 
Pour'd  through  the  sufferer's  breast  delicious  balm, 
And  soothed  remembrance  till  remorse  grew  calm, 
Till  Cain  forsook  the  solitary  wild, 
Led  by  the  minstrel  like  a  weaned  child. 
Oh  !  had  you  seen  him  to  his  home  restored, 
How  young  and  old  ran  forth  to  meet  their  lord ; 
How  friends  and  kindred  on  his  neck  did  fall, 
Weeping  aloud,  while  Cain  outwept  them  all : 
But  hush! — thenceforward  when  recoiling  care 
Lower' d  on  his  brow,  and  sadden'd  to  despair, 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.  169 

The  lyre  of  Jubal,  with  divinest  art, 
RepelPd  the  demon,  and  revived  his  heart. 
Thus  Song,  the  breath  of  heaven,  had  power  to  bind 
In  chains  of  harmony  the  mightiest  mind  ; 
Thus  Music's  empire  in  the  soul  began, 
The  first-born  Poet  ruled  the  first-born  Man." 
While  Javan  sang,  the  shadows  fell  around, 
The  moving  glow-worm  brighten'd  on  the  ground: 
He  ceased  :  the  mute  assembly  rose  in  tears ; 
Delight  and  wonder  were  chastised  with  fears; 
That  heavenly  harmony,  unheard  before, 
Awoke  the  feeling, — "Who  shall  hear  it  more  ?" 
The  sun  had  set  in  glory  on  their  sight, 
For  them  in  vain  might  morn  restore  the  light ; 
Though  self-devoted,  through  each  mortal  frame, 
At  thought  of  death,  a  cold,  sick  shuddering  came, 
Nature's  infirmity  ; — but  faith  was  given, 
The  flame  that  lifts  the  sacrifice  to  heaven : 
Through  doubt  and  darkness  then  beyond  the  skies, 
Eternal  prospects  open'd  on  their  eyes  ; 
Already  seem'd  the  immortal  spirit  free, 
And  Death  was  swallovv'd  up  in  victory. 


CANTO  SEVENTH. 

The  Patriarch*  and  their  Families  carri«l  tvat/  eaptirt  by  a  Detachment  from  the 
jlrmij  of  the  Iiinuleri—Tlie  7'uuib  uf  J£d  :  Aw  Munler  by  Cain  described— Tin 
Origin  of  the  Giant*:  the  Infanrij  and  early  Adventures  of  their  King:  the 
Leader  of  their  float  encamped  in  E.lfit. 

THE  flocks  and  herds  throughout  the  glen  reposed; 
No  human  eyelid  there  in  slumber  closed; 
None,  save  the  infant's  on  the  mother's  breast; — 
With  arms  of  love  caressing  and  carest ; 
She,  while  her  elder  offspring  round  her  clung, 
Each  eye  intent  on  hers,  and  mute  each  tongue, 
The  voice  of  Death  in  every  murmur  heard, 
And  fell  his  touch  in  every  limb  that  slirr'd. 

VOL.  i.  15 


170  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

At  midnight,  down  the  forest  hills,  a  train 
Of  eager  warriors  from  the  host  of  Cain, 
Burst  on  the  stillness  of  the  scene  : — they  spread 
In  bands,  to  clutch  the  victims  ere  they  fled : 
Of  flight  unmindful,  at  their  summons,  rose 
Those  victims,  meekly  yielding  to  their  foes; 
Though  woman  wept  to  leave  her  home  behind, 
The  weak  were  comforted,  the  strong  resign'd,  * 
And  ere  the  moon  descending  o'er  the  vale, 
Grew,  at  the  bright  approach  of  morning,  pale, 
Collected  thus,  the  patriarchal  clan, 
With  strengthen'd  confidence  their  march  began, 
Since  not  in  ashes  were  their  dwellings  laid, 
And  death,  though  threaten'd  still,  was  still  delay'd. 
Struck  with  their  fearless  innocence,  they  saw 
Their  fierce  assailants  cht-ck'd  with  sacred  awe ; 
The  foe  became  a  phalanx  of  defence, 
And  brought  them,  like  a  guard  of  angels,  thence. 
A  vista-path,  that  through  the  forest  led, 
(By  Javan  shunn'd  when  from  the  camp  he  fled,) 
The  pilgrims  track'd  till  on  the  mountain's  height 
They  met  the  sun  new  risen,  in  glorious  light; 
Empurpled  mists  along  the  landscape  roll'd, 
And  all  the  orient  flamed  with  clouds  of  gold. 

Here,  while  they  halted,  on  their  knees  they  raise 
To  God  the  sacrifice  of  prayer  and  praise  ; 
— "  Glory  to  Thee,  for  every  blessing  shed, 
In  days  of  peace,  on  our  protected  head  ; 
Glory  to  Thee,  for  fortitude  to  bear 
The  wrath  of  man,  rejoicing  o'er  despair; 
Glory  to  Thee,  whatever  ill  befall, 
For  faith  on  thy  victorious  name  to  c'all ; 
Thine  own  eternal  purposes  fulfil ; 
We  come,  O  God !  to  suffer  all  thy  will." 

Refresh'd  and  rested,  on  their  course  they  went, 
Ere  the  clouds  melted  from  the  firmament; 
Odours  abroad  the  wings  of  morning  breathe, 
And  fresh  with  dew  the  herbage  sprang  beneath ; 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE   THE   FLOOD.  HI 

Down  from  the  hills,  that  gently  sloped  away 

To  the  br<5ad  river  shining  into  day, 

They  pass'd,  along  the  brink  the  path  they  kept, 

Where  high  aloof  o'er-arching  willows  wept, 

Whose  silvery  foilage  glisten'd  in  the  beam, 

And  floating  shadows  fringed  the  chequer'd  stream. 

Adjacent  rose  a  myrtle-planted  mound, 
Whose^spiry  top,  a  granite  fragment  crown'd  ; 
Tinctured  with  many  colour'd  moss,  the  stone, 
Rich  as  a  cloud  of  summer-evening,  shone 
Amidst  encircling  verdure,  that  array'd 
The  beauteous  hillock  with  a  cope  of  shade. 

"  Javan  !"  said  Enoch,  "  on  this  spot  began 
The  fatal  curse  ; — man  perish'd  here  by  man; 
The  earliest  death  a  son  of  Adam  died 
Was  murder,  and  that  murder  fratricide  ! 
Here  Abel  fell  a  corse  along  this  shore  ; 
Here  Cain's  recoiling  footsteps  reek'd  with  gore : 
Horror  upraised  his  locks>  unloosed  his  knees ; 
He  heard  a  voice  ;  he  hid  among  the  trees  : 
— '  Where  is  thy  brother  ?' — From  the  whirlwind  came 
The  voice  of  God  amidst  enfolding  flame  : 
— 'Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?' — hoarse  and  low, 
Cain  mutter'd  from  the  copse, — '  that  I  should  know  ?* 
— 'What  hast  thou  done? — For  vengeance  to  the  skies, 
Lo  !  from  the  dust  the  blood  of  Abel  cries  : 
Curst  from  the  earth  that  drank  his  blood,  with  toil 
Thine  hand  shall  plough  in  vain  her  barren  soil, 
An  exile  and  a  wanderer  thou  shall  be ; 
A  brother's  eye  shall  never  look  on  thee.' — 

"The  shuddering  culprit  answcr'd  in  despair, 
— 'Greater  the  punishment  than  flesh  can  bear.' 
— '  Yet  shall  thou  bear  it ;  on  thy  brow  reveal'd, 
Thus  be  thy  sentence  nnd  thy  safeguard  seal'd.' 
Silently,  swiftly  as  ihe  lightning's  blast, 
A  hand  of  fire  athwart  his  temples  pass'd  : 
He  ran,  as  in  the  terror  of  a  dream, 
To  quench  his  burning  anguish  in  the  stream; 


172  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

But  bending  o'er  the  brink,  the  swelling  wave 
Back  to  the  eye  his  branded  visage  gave ;          * 
As  soon  on  murder'd  Abel  durst  he  look  ; 
Yet  power  to  fly  his  palsied  limbs  forsook  ; 
There  turn'd  to  stone  for  his  presumptuous  crime, 
A  monument  of  wrath  to  latest  time, 
Might  Cain  have  stood  :  but  Mercy  raised  his  head 
In  prayer  for  help, — his  strength  return'd,— he  fled. 
That  mound  of  myrtles  o'er  their  favourite  child, 
Eve  planted,  and  the  hand  of  Adam  piled  ; 
Yon  mossy  stone,  above  his  ashes  raised, 
His  altar  once,  with  Abel's  offering  blazed, 
When  God  well  pleased  beheld  the  flames  arise, 
And  smiled  acceptance  on  the  sacrifice." 

Enoch  to  Javan,  walking  at  his  side, 
Thus  held  discourse  apart :  the  youth  replied  : 
"  Relieved  from  toil,  though  Cain  is  gone  to  rest, 
And  the  turf  flowers  on  his  disburderi'd  breast, 
Amongst  his  race  the  murdering  spirit  reigns, 
But  riots  fiercest  in  the  giants'  veins.  [combined 

— Sprung   from    false    leagues,    when    monstrous    love 
The  sons  of  God  and  daughters  of  mankind, 
Self-styled  the  progeny  of  heaven  and  earth, 
Eden  first  gave  the  world's  oppressors  birth; 
Thence  far  away,  beneath  the  rising  moon, 
Or  where  the  shadow  vanishes  at  noon, 
The  adulterous  mothers  from  the  sires  withdrew: 
— Nurst  in  luxuriant  climes  their  offspring  grew  ; 
Till,  as  in  stature  o'er  mankind  they  tower'd, 
And  giant-strength  all  mortal  strength  o'erpower'd, 
To  heaven  the  proud  blasphemers  raise  their  eyes, 
And  scorn'd  the  tardy  vengeance  of  the  skies: 
-On  earth  invincible,  they  sternly  broke 
Love's  willing  bonds,  and  Nature's  kindred  yoke, 
Mad  for  dominion,  with  remorseless  sway, . 
Compell'd  their  reptile-brethren  to  obey, 
And  doom'd  their  human  herds,  with  thankless  toil, 
Like  brutes,  to  grow  and  perish  on  the  soil, 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.  173 

Their  sole  inheritance,  through  lingering  years, 
The  bread  of  misery  and  the  cup  of  tears, 
The  tasks  of  oxen,  with  the  hire  of  slaves, 
Dishonour'd  lives,  and  desecrated  graves. 

"When  war,  that  self-inflicted  scourge  of  man, 
His  boldest  crime  and  bitterest  curse, — began  ; 
As  lions  fierce,  as  forest-cedars  tall, 
And  terrible  as  torrents,  in  th^ir  fall, 
Headlong  from  rocks,  through  vales  and  vineyards  hurl'd. 
These  men  of  prey  laid  waste  the  eastern  world ; 
They  taught  their  tributary  hordes  to  wield 
The  sword,  red-flaming,  through  the  death-strown  field, 
With  strenuous  arm  the  uprooted  rock  to  throw, 
Glance  the  light  arrow  from  the  bounding  bow, 
Whirl  the  broad  shield  to  meet  the  darted  stroke, 
And  stand  to  combat,  like  the  unyielding  oak. 
Then  eye  from  eye  with  fell  suspicion  turn'd, 
In  kindred  breasts  unnatural  hatred  burn'd  ; 
Brother  met  brother  in  the  lists  of  strife, 
The  son  lay  lurking  for  the  father's  life  ; 
With  rabid  instinct,  men  who  never  knew 
Each  other's  face  before,'  each  other  slew ; 
All  tribes,  all  nations  learn'd  the  fatal  art, 
And  every  hand  was  arm'd  to  pierce  a  heart. 
Nor  man  alone  the  giants'  might  subdued  ; 
— The  camel  wean'd  from  quiet  solitude, 
Grazed  round  their  camps,  or  slow  along  the  road, 
Midst  marching  legions  bore  the  servile  load. 
With  flying  forelock  and  dishevell'd  mane, 
They  caught  the  wild  steed  prancing  o'er  the  plain, 
For  war  or  pastime  rein'd  his  fiery  force  ; 
Fleet  as  the  wind  he  stretch'd  along  the  course, 
Or  loudly  neighing  at  the  trumpet's  sound, 
With  hoofs  of  thunder  smote  tho  indented  ground. 
The  enormous  elephant  obey'd  their  will, 
And,  tamed  to  cruelty  with  direst  skill, 
Roar'd  for  the  battle,  when  he  felt  the  goad, 
And  his  proui  lord  his  sinewy  neck  bestrode, 

15* 


174  THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Through  crashing-  ranks  resistless  havoc  bore, 

And  writhed  his  trunk,  and  bathed  his  tusks  in  gore. 

"Thus  while  the  giants  trampled  friends  and  foes, 
Amongst  their  tribe  a  mighty  chieftain  rose  ; 
His  birth  mysterious,  but  traditions  tell 
What  strange  events  his  infancy  befell. 

"A  g-oat-herd  fed  his  flock  on  many  a  steep, 
Where  Eden's  rivers  swell  the  southern  deep; 
A  melancholy  man,  who  dwelt  alone, 
Yet  far  abroad  his  evil  fame  was  known, 
The  first  of  woman  born,  that  might  presume 
To  wake  the  dead  bones  mouldering  in  the  tomb, 
And,  from  the  gulf  of  uncreated  night, 
Call  phantoms  of  futurity  to  light. 
'Twas  said  his  voice  could  stay  the  falling  flood, 
Eclipse  the  sun,  and  turn  the  moon  to  blood, 
Roll  back  the  planets  on  their  golden  cars, 
And  from  the  firmament  unfix  the  stars. 
Spirits  of  fire  and  air,  of  sea  and  land, 
Came  at  his  call,  and  flew  at  his  command  ; 
His  spells  so  potent,  that  his  changing  breath 
Open'd  or  shut  the  gates  of  life  and  death. 
O'er  Nature's  powers  he  claim'd  supreme  control, 
And  held  communion  with  all  Nature's  soul: 
The  name  and  place  of  every  herb  he  knew, 
Its  healing  balsam,  or  pernicious  dew  : 
The  meanest  reptile,  and  the  noblest  birth 
Of  ocean's  caverns,  or  the  living  earth, 
Obey'd  his  mandate  : — lord  of  all  the  rest, 
Man  more  than  all  his  hidden  art  confess'd, 
Cringed  to  his  face,  consulted,  and  revered 
His  oracles, — detested  him  and  fear'd. 

"  Once  by  the  river,  in  a  waking  dream, 
He  stood  to  watch  the  ever-running  stream, 
In  which,  reflected  upwards  to  his  eyes, 
He  giddily  look'd  down  upon  the  skies, 
For  thus  he  feign'd  in  his  ecstatic  mood, 
To  summon  divination  from  the  flood. 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  175 

His  steady  view,  a  floating  object  cross'd  ; 

His  eye  pursued  it  till  the  sight  was  lost, — 

An  outcast  infant  in  a  fragile  bark  ! 

The  river  whirl'd  the  willow-woven  ark 

Down  tow'rds  the  deep;  the  tide  returning  bore 

The  little  voyager  unharm'd  to  shore; 

Him  in  his  cradle-ship  securely  bound 

With  swathing  skins  at  eve  the  goatherd  found. 

Nurst  by  that  foster-sire,  austere  and  rude, 

Midst  rocks  and  glens,  in  savage  solitude, 

Among  the  kids,  the  rescued  foundling  grew, 

Nutrition  from  whose  shaggy  dams  he  drew, 

Till  baby-curls  his  broader  temples  crown'd, 

And  torrid  suns  his  flexile  limbs  embrown'd  : 

Then  as  he  sprang  from  green  to  florid  age, 

And  rose  to  giant-stature,  stage  by  stage, 

He  roam'd  the  valleys  with  his  browsing  flock, 

And  leapt  in  joy  of  youth  from  rock  to  rock  ; 

Climb'd  the  sharp  precipice's  steepest  breast, 

To  sei/e  the  eagle  brooding-  on  her  nest, 

And  rent  his  way  through  matted  woods,  to  tear 

The  skulking  panther  from  his  hidden  lair. 

A  trodden  serpent,  horrible  and  vast, 

Sprang  on  the  heedless  rover  as  he  pass'd ; 

Limb  lock'd  o'er  limb,  with  many  a  straitening  fold 

Of  orbs  inextricably  involved,  he  roll'd 

On  earth  in  vengeance,  broke  the  twisted  toils, 

Strangled  the  hissing  fiend,  and  wore  the  spoils. 

With  hardy  exercise,  and  cruel  art, 

To  nerve  the  frame,  and  petrify  the  heart, 

The  wizard  train'd  his  pupil,  from  a  span, 

To  thrice  the  bulk  and  majesty  of  man. 

His  limbs  were  sinewy  strength  ;  commanding  grace, 

And  dauntless  spirit  sparkled  in  his  face  ; 

His  arm  could  pluck  the  lion  from  his  prey, 

And  hold  the  horn'd  rhinoceros  nt  bay  : 

His  feet  o'er  highest  hills  pursue  the  hind, 

Or  tire  the  ostrich  buoyant  on  the  wind. 


176  THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

"Yet  'twas  the  stripling's  chief  delight  to  brave 
The  rivers'  wrath,  and  wrestle  with  the  wave ; 
When  torrent  rains  had  swoln  the  furious  tide, 
Light  on  the  foamy  surge  he  loved  to  ride ; 
When  calm  and  clear  the  stream  was  wont  to  flow, 
Fearless  he  dived  to  search  the  caves  below. 
His  childhood's  story,  often  told,  had  wrought 
Sublimest  hopes  in  his  aspiring  thought. 
— Once  on  a  cedar,  from  its  mountain-throne 
Pluckt  by  the  tempest,  forth  he  sail'd  alone, 
And  reach'd  the  gulf :— with  eye  of  eager  fire, 
And  flushing  cheek,  he  watch'd  the  shores  retire, 
Till  sky  and  water  wide  around  were  spread ; 
— Straight  to  the  sun  he  thought  his  voyage  led, 
With  shouts  of  transport  hail'd  its  setting  light, 
And  follow'd  all  the  long  and  lonely  night 
But  ere  the  morning-star  expired,  he  found 
His  stranded  bark  once  more  on  earthly  ground. 
Tears,  wrung  from  secret  shame,  suffused  his  eyes, 
When  in  the  east  he  saw  the  sun  arise ; 
Pride  quickly  check'd  them — young  ambition  burn'd 
For  bolder  enterprise,  as  he  return'd. 

"Through  snares  and  deaths  pursuing  fame  and  power. 
He  scorn'd  his  flock  from  that  adventurous  hour, 
And,  leagued  with  monsters  of  congenial  birth, 
Began  to  scourge  and  subjugate  the  earth. 
Meanwhile  the  sons  of  Cain,  who  till'd  the  soil, 
By  noble  arts  had  learn'd  to  lighten  toil; 
Wisely  their  scatter'd  knowledge  he  combined  ; 
Yet  had  an  hundred  years  matured  his  mind, 
Ere  with  the  strength  that  laid  the  forest  low, 
And  skill  that  made  the  iron  furnace  glow, 
His  genius  launch'd  the  keel,  and  sway'd  the  helm, 
(His  throne  and  sceptre  on  the  watery  realm,) 
While  from  the  tent  of  his  expanded  sail, 
He  eyed  the  heavens  and  flew  before  the  gale, 
The  first  of  men  whose  courage  knew  to  guide 
The  bounding  vessel  through  the  refluent  tide- 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  177 

Then  sware  the  giant,  in  his  pride  of  soul, 
To  range  the  universe  from  pole  to  pole, 
Rule  the  remotest  nations  with  his  nod, 
To  live  a  hero,  and  to  die  a  god. 

"  This  is  the  king  that  wars  in  Eden : — now 
Fulfill'd  at  length  he  deems  his  early  vow; 
His  foot  hath  over-run  the  world, — his  hand 
Smitten  to  dust  the  pride  of  every  land: 
The  Patriarchs  last,  beneath  his  impious  rod, 
He  dooms  to  perish  or  abjure  their  God. 
— O  God  of  truth  !  rebuke  the  tyrant's  rage, 
And  save  the  remnant  of  thine  heritage." 

When  Javan  ceased,  they  stood  upon  the  height, 
Where  first  he  rested  on  his  lonely  flight, 
Whence  to  the  sacred  mountain  far  away, 
The  land  of  Eden  in  perspective  lay. 
'Twas  noon  ; — they  tarried  there,  till  milder  hours 
Woke  with  light  airs  the  breath  of  evening  flowers. 


CANTO  EIGHTH. 

The  Scene  chanrrrs  to  a  Mountain,  on  the  Summit  of  irhirh,  beneath  the  Shade  of 
ancient  Trees,  the  Gianli  are  assembled  round  their  King—A  Minstrel  sings  the 
Monarch's  Praincs,  and  describes  the  Destruction  of  the  Remnant  of  the  Force  of 
his  Enemies,  in  an  Jistault,  by  Land  and  H'ater,  on  their  Encampment,  between 
Ike  Forest  on  the  eastern  Plain  of  Kden  and  the  River  to  the  West—Tlie  Captir* 
Patriarchs  are  presented  before  the  King  and  hit  Chieftains. 

"THERE  is  a  living  spirit  in  the  Lyre, 
A  breath  of  music  and  a  soul  of  fire  ; 
It  speaks  a  language  to  the  world  unknown  ; 
It  speaks  that  language  to  the  Bard  alone ; 
While  warbled  symphonies  entrance  his  ears. 
That  spirit's  voice  in  every  tone  he  hears ; 
'Tis  his  the  mystic  meaning  to  rehearse, 
To  utter  oracles  in  glowing  verse. 
Heroic  themes  from  age  to  age  prolong, 
And  make  the  dead  in  nature  live  in  song, 


178  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Though  graven  rocks  the  warrior's  deeds  proclaim, 

And  mountains,  hewn  to  statues,  wear  his  name  ; 

Though,  shrined  in  adamant,  his  relics  lie 

Beneath  a  pyramid,  that  scales  the  sky  ; 

All  that  the  hand  hath  fashion'd  shall  decay ; 

All  that  the  eye  admires  shall  pass  away  ; 

The  mouldering  rocks,  the  hero's  hope  shall  fail, 

Earthquakes  shall  heave  the  mountains  to  the  vale, 

The  shrine  of  adamant  betray  its  trust, 

And  the  proud  pyramid  resolve  to  dust ; 

The  Lyre  alone  immortal  fame  secures, 

For  Song  alone  through  Nature's  change  endures , — 

Transfused  like  life,  from  breast  to  breast  it  glows,     . 

From  sire  to  son  by  sure  succession  flows, 

Speeds  its  unceasing  flight  from  clime  to  clime, 

Outstripping  Death  upon  the  wings  of  Time. 

"  Soul  of  the  Lyre  !  whose  magic  power  can  raise 
Inspiring  visions  of  departed  days  ; — 
Or,  with  the  glimpses  of  mysterious  rhyme, 
Dawn  on  the  dreams  of  unawaken'd  Time  ; 
Soul  of  the  Lyre  !  instruct  thy  bard  to  sing 
The  latest  triumph  of  the  Giant-king, 
Who  sees  this  day  his  orb  of  glory  fill'd  : 
— In  what  creative  numbers  shall  I  build, 
With  what  exalted  strains  of  music  crown, 
His  everlasting  pillar  of  renown  ? 
Though,  like  the  rainbow,  by  a  wondrous  birth, 
He  sprang  to  light,  the  joy  of  heaven  and  earth; 
Though,  like  the  rainbow, — for  he  cannot  die, — 
His  form  shall  pass  unseen  into  the  sky  ; 
Say,  shall  the  hero  share  the  coward's  lot, 
Vanish  from  earth  ingloriously  forgot  ? 
No  !  the  divinity  that  rules  the  Lyre, 
And  clothes  these  lips  with  eloquence  of  fire, 
Commands  the  song  to  rise  in  quenchless  flam* 
And  light  the  world  for  ever  with  his  fame." 

Thus  on  a  mountain's  venerable  head, 
Where  trees,  coeval  with  creation,  spread 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 


Their  massy-twisted  branches,  green  and  gray, 
Mature  below,  their  tops  in  dry  decay, 
A  bard  of  Jubal's  lineage  proudly  sung, 
Then  stay'd  awhile  the  raptures  of  his  tongue  ; 
A  shout  of  horrible  applause,  that  rent 
The  echoing  hills  and  answering  firmament, 
Burst  from  the  Giants,  —  where,  in  barbarous  state, 
Flush'd  with  new  wine,  around  their  king  they  sate 
A  chieftain  each,  who,  on  his  brazen  car, 
Had  led  an  host  of  meaner  men  to  war  ; 
And  now  from  recent  fight  on  Eden's  plain, 
Where  fell  their  foes,  in  helpless  conflict  slain, 
Victoriously  return'd,  beneath  the  trees 
They  rest  from  toil,  carousing  at  their  ease. 

Adjacent,  where  the  mountain's  spacious  breast 
Open'd  in  airy  grandeur  to  the  west, 
Huge  piles  of  fragrant  cedars,  on  the  ground, 
As  altars  blazed,  while  victims  bled  around, 
To  gods,  whose  worship  vanish'd  with  the  Flood, 
—  Divinities  of  brass,  and  stone,  and  wood, 
By  man  himself  in  his  own  image  made  ; 
The  fond  creator  to  the  creature  pray'd  ! 
And  he,  who  from  the  forest  or  the  rock 
Hew'd  the  rough  mass,  adored  the  shapen  block! 
Then  seetn'd  his  flocks  ignoble  in  his  eyes, 
His  choicest  herds  too  mean  for  sacrifice, 
He  pour'd  his  brethren's  blood  upon  the  pyre, 
Arid  pass'd  his  sons  to  demons  through  the  fire. 

Exalted  o'er  the  vassal  chiefs,  behold 
Their  sovereign,  cast  in  Nature's  mightiest  mould  ; 
Beneath  an  oak,  whose  woven  boughs  displayed 
A  verdant  canopy  of  light  and  shade, 
Throned  on  a  rock  the  Giant-king  appears, 
In  the  full  manhood  of  five  hundred  years; 
His  robe,  the  spoils  of  lions,  by  his  might 
Dragg'd  from  their  dens,  or  slain  in  chase  or  fight  : 
His  raven  locks,  unblanch'd  by  withering  Time, 
Amply  dishevell'd  o'er  his  brow  sublime  ; 


1«0  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

His  dark  eyes,  flush'd  with  restless  radiance,  gleam 

Like  broken  moonlight  rippling  on  the  stream. 

Grandeur  of  soul,  which  nothing  might  appal, 

And  nothing  satisfy  if  less  than  all, 

Had  stamp'd  upon  his  air,  his  form,  his  face, 

The  character  of  calm  and  awful  grace  ; 

But  direst  cruelty,  by  guile  represt, 

Lurk'd  in  the  dark  volcano  of  his  breast, 

In  silence  brooding,  like  the  secret  power 

That  springs  the  earthquake  at  the  midnight  hour. 

From  Eden's  summit,  with  obdurate  pride, 
Red  from  afar,  the  battle-scene  he  eyed, 
Where  late  he  crush'd,  with  one  remorseless  blow, 
The  remnant  of  his  last  and  noblest  foe  ; 
At  hand  he  view'd  the  trophies  of  his  toils, 
Herds,  flocks,  and  steeds,  the  world's  collected  spoils  ; 
Below,  his  legions  march'd  in  war  array, 
Unstain'd  with  blood  in  that  unequal  fray: 
— An  hundred  tribes,  whose  sons  their  arms  had  borne 
Without  contention,  from  the  field  at  morn, 
Their  bands  dividing,  when  the  fight  was  won, 
Darken'd  the  region  tow'rds  the  slanting  sun, 
Like  clouds,  whose  shadows  o'er  the  landscape  sail, 
— While  to  their  camp,  that  fill'd  the  northern  vale, 
A  waving  sea  of  tents,  immensely  spread, 
The  trumpet  summon'd,  and  the  banners  led. 
With  these  a  train  of  captives,  sad  and  slow, 
Moved  to  a  death  of  shame,  or  life  of  woe, 
A  death  on  altars  hateful  to  the  skies,. 
Or  life  in  chains,  a  slower  sacrifice. 
Fair  smiled  the  face  of  Nature  ; — all  serene 
And  lovely,  Evening  tranquillized  the  scene; 
The  furies  of  the  fight  were  gone  to  rest, 
The  cloudless  sun  grew  broader  down  the  west. 
The  hills  beneath  him  melted  from  the  sight, 
Receding  through  the  heaven  of  purple  light ; 
Along  the  plain  the  maze  of  rivers  roll'd, 
And  verdant  shadows  gleam'd  in  waves  of  gold. 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  18« 

• s ' 

Tims  while  the  tyrant  cast  his  haughty  eye 
O'er  the  broad  landscape  and  incumbent  sky, 
His  heart  exulting  whisper'd — "  All  is  mine," 
And  heard  a  voice  from  all  things  answer  "Thine." 
Such  was  the  matchless  chief,  whose  name  of  yore 
Fill'd  the  wide  world  : — his  name  is  known  no  more : 
O  that  for  ever  from  the  rolls  of  fame, 
Like  his,  had  perish'd  every  conqueror's  name  ! 
Then  had  mankind  been  spared,  in  after-times, 
Their  greatest  sufferings  and  their  greatest  crimes. 
The  hero  scourges  not  his  age  alone, 
His  curse  to  late  posterity  is  known  : 
He  slays  his  thousands  with  his  living  breath, 
His  tens  of  thousands  by  his  fame  in  death. 
Achilles  quench'd  not  all  his  wrath  on  Greece, 
Through  Homer's  songs  its  miseries  never  cease  ; 
Like  Phoebus'  shafts,  the  bright  contagion  brings 
Plagues  on  the  people  for  the  feuds  of  kings. 
'Twas  not  in  vain  the  son  of  Philip  sigh'd 
For  worlds  to  conquer, — o'er  the  western  tide, 
His  spirit,  in  the  Spaniard's  form,  o'erthrew 
Realms  that  the  Macedonian  never  knew. 
The  steel  of  Brutus  struck  not  Caesar  dead ; 
Cssar  in  other  lands  hath  raised  his  head, 
And  fought,  of  friends  ancHbes,  on  many  a  plain, 
His  millions,  captured,  fugitive,  and  slain  ; 
Yet  seldom  sufFer'd,  where  his  country  died, 
A  Roman  vengeance  for  his  parricide. 

The  sun  was  sunk  ;  the  sacrificial  pyres 
From  smouldering  ashes  breathed  their  last  blue  fires, 
The  smiling  star,  that  lights  the  world  to  rest, 
Walk'd  in  the  rosy  gardens  of  the  west, 
Like  Eve  erewhile  through  Eden's  blooming  bowers, 
A  lovelier  star  amidst  a  heaven  of  flowers. 
Now  in  the  freshness  of  the  falling  shade. 
Again  the  minstrel  to  the  monarch  play'd. 
— "Where  is  the  youth  renown'd? — the  youth  whose  voice 
Was  wont  to  make  the  listening  camp  rejoice, 

VOL.  i.  16 


162  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 


When  to  his  harp,  in  many  a  peerless  strain, 
He  sang  the  wonders  of  the  Giant's  reign: 
Oh  where  is  Javan  ?" — Thus  the  bard  renew'd 
His  lay,  and  with  a  rival's  transport  view'd 
The  cloud  of  sudden  anger,  that  o'ercame 
^The  tyrant's  countenance  at  Javan's  name  ; 
Javan,  whose  song  was  once  his  soul's  delight, 
Now  doom'd  a  traitor  recreant  by  his  flight. 
The  envious  minstrel  smiled  ;  then  boldly  ran 
His  prelude  o'er  the  chords,  and  thus  began  : — 

«'  'Twas  on  the  morn  that  faithless  Javan  fled, 
To  yonder  plain  the  king  of  nations  led 
His  countless  hosts,  and  stretch'd  their  wide  array 
Along  the  woods,  within  whose  shelter  lay 
The  sons  of  Eden:* — these,  with  secret  pride, 
In  ambush  thus  the  Invincible  defied  : 
—'Girt  with  the  forest  wherefore  should  we  fear? 
The  Giant's  sword  shall  never  reach  us  here: 
Behind,  the  river  rolls  its  deep  defence  ; 
The  Giant's  hand  shall  never  pluck  us  hence.' 
Vain  boast  of  fools  !   who  to  that  hand  prepare 
For  their  own  lives  the  inevitable  snare  : 
His  legions  smote  the  standards  of  the  wood, 
And  with  their  prostrate  strength  controll'd  the  flood 
Lopt  off  their  boughs,  and  joiat'ed  beam  to  beam, 
The  pines  and  oaks  were  launch'd  upon  the  stream, 
An  hundred  rafts. — Yet  still  Within  a  zone 
Of  tangled  coppices, — a  waste,  o'ergrown 
With  briers  and  thorns, — the  dauntless  victims  lie, 
Scorn  to  surrender,  and  prepare  to  die. 
The  second  sun  went  down  ;  the  monarch's  plan 
Was  perfected  :  the  dire  assault  began. 

"Marshall'd  by  twilight,  his  obedient  bands 
Engirt  the  wood,  with  torches  in  their  hands ; 
The  signal  given,  they  shoot  them  through  the  air; 
The  blazing  brands  in  rapid  volleys  glare, 


Vide  Canto  I.  p.  118,  and  Canto  HI.  p.  139. 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.  193 


Descending  through  the  gloom  with  spangled  light, 

As  if  the  stars  were  falling  through  the  night. 

Along  the  wither'd  grass  the  wild-fire  flew, 

Higher  and  hotter  with  obstruction  grew  ; 

The  green  wood  hiss'd  ;  from  crackling  thickets  broke 

Light-glancing  flame,  and  heavy-rolling  smoke; 

Till  all  the  breadth  of  forest  seem'd  to  rise 

In  blazing  conflagration  to  the  skies. 

Fresh  o'er  our  heads  the  winds  propitious  blow, 

But  roll  the  fierce  combustion  on  the  foe. 

Awhile  they  paused,  of  every  hope  bereft, 

Choice  of  destruction  all  their  refuge  left; 

If  from  the  flames  they  fled,  behind  them  lay 

The  river  roaring  to  receive  his  prey ; 

If  through  the  stream  they  sought  the  farther  strand, 

Our  rafts  were  moor'd  to  meet  them  ere  they  land ; 

With  triple  death  environ'd  thus  they  stood, 

Till  nearer  peril  drove  them  to  the  flood. 

Safe  on  a  hill,  where  sweetest  moonlight  slept, 

As  o'er  the  changing  scene  my  watch  I  kept, 

I  heard  their  shrieks  of  agony  ;  I  hear 

Those  shrieks  still  ring  in  my  tormented  ear; 

I  saw  them  leap  the  gulf  with  headlong  fright ; 

Oh  that  mine  eyes  could  now  forget  that  sight! 

They  sank  in  multitude  ;  but  prompt  to  save, 

Our  warriors  snatch'd  the  stragglers  from  the  wave, 

And  on  their  rafts  a  noble  harvest  bore 

Of  rescued  heroes,  captive  to  the  shore. 

"One  little  troop  their  lessening  ground  maintain'd 
Till  space  to  perish  in  alone  remain'd  ; 
Then  with  a  shout  that  rent  the  echoing  air, 
More  like  the  shout  of  victory  than  despair, 
Wedged  in  a  solid  phalanx,  man  by  man, 
Right  through  the  scorching  wilderness  they  ran, 
Where  half  extinct  the  smouldering  fuel  glow'd, 
And  levell'd  copses  strew'd  the  open  road. 
Unhann'd  as  spirits  while  they  seem'd  to  pass, 
Their  lighted  features  flared  like  molten  brass, 


II 


184  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Around  the  flames  in  writhing  volumes  spread, 
Thwarted  their  path,  or  mingled  o'er  their  head; 
Beneath  their  feet  the  fires  to  ashes  turn'd, 
But  in  their  wake  with  mounting  fury  burn'd. 
Our  host  recoil'd  from  that  amazing  sight ; 
Scarcely  the  king  himself  restrain'd  their  flight; 
He,  with  his  chiefs,  in  brazen  armour,  stood 
Unmoved,  to  meet  the  maniacs  from  the  wood. 
Dark  as  a  thunder-cloud  their  phalanx  came, 
But  split  like  lightning  into  forms  of  flame  ; 
Soon  as  in  purer  air  their  heads  they  raised 
To  taste  the  breath  of  heaven,  their  garments  blazed  ; 
Then  blind,  distracted,  weaponless,  yet  flush'd 
With  dreadful  valour,  on  their  foes  they  rushed  ; 
The  Giants  met  them  midway  on  the  plain  ; 
'Twas  but  the  struggle  of  a  moment ; — slain, 
They  fell ;  their  relics,  to  the  flames  returri'd, 
As  offerings  to  the  immortal  gods  were  burn'd ; 
And  never  did  the  light  of  morning  rise 
Upon  the  clouds  of  such  a  sacrifice." 

Abruptly  here  the  minstrel  ceased  to  sing, 
And  every  face  was  turn'd  upon  the  king ; 
He,  while  the  stoutest  hearts  recoil'd  with  fear, 
And  Giants  trembled  their  own  deeds  to  hear, 
Unmoved. and  unrelenting,  in  his  mind 
Deeds  of  more  impious  enterprise  design'd  : 
A  dire  conception  labour'd  in  his  breast ; 
His  eye  was  sternly  pointed  to  the  west, 
Where  stood  the  mount  of  Paradise  sublime, 
Whose  guarded  top,  since  man's  presumptuous  crime, 
By  noon,  a  dusky  cloud  appear'd  to  rise, 
But  blazed  a  beacon  through  nocturnal  skies. 
As  ^Etna,  view'd  from  ocean  far  away, 
Slumbers  in  blue  revolving  smoke  by  day, 
Till  darkness,  with  terrific  splendour,  shows 
The  eternal  fires  that  crest  the  eternal  snows; 
So  where  the  cherubim  in  vision  turn'd 
Their  flaming  swords,  the  summit  lower'd  or  burn'd. 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.  185 

And  now  conspicuous  through  the  twilight  gloom, 
The  glancing  beams  the  distant  hills  illume, 
And,  as  the  shadows  deepen  o'er  the  ground, 
Scatter  a  red  and  wavering  lustre  round. 

Awhile  the  monarch,  fearlessly  amazed, 
With  jealous  anger  on  the  glory  gazed; 
Already  had  his  arm  in  battle  hurl'd 
His  thunders  round  the  subjugated  world  ; 
Lord  of  the  nether  universe,  his  pride 
Was  rein'd,  while  Paradise  his  power  defied. 
An  upland  isle,  by  meeting  streams  embraced, 
It  tower'd  to  heaven  amidst  a  sandy  waste; 
Below,  impenetrable  woods  display'd 
Depths  of  mysterious  solitude  and  shade  ; 
Above,  with  adamantine  bulwarks  crown'd, 
Primeval  rocks  in  hoary  masses  frown'd : 
O'er  all  were  seen  the  cherubim  of  light, 
Like  pillar'd  flames  amidst  the  falling  night; 
So  high  it  rose,  so  bright  the  mountain  shone, 
It-seem'd  the  footstool  of  Jehovah's  throne. 

The  Giant  panted  with  intense  desire 
To  scale  those  heights,  and  storm  the  walls  of  fire : 
His  ardent  soul,  in  ecstasy  of  thought, 
Even  now  with  Michael  and  his  angels  fought, 
And  saw  the  seraphim,  like  meteors,  driven 
Before  his  banners  through  the  gates  of  heaven, 
While  he  secure  the  glorious  garden  trod, 
And  sway'd  his  sceptre  from  the  mount  of  God. 

When  suddenly  the  bard  had  ceased  to  sing, 
While  all  the  chieftains  gazed  upon  their  king, 
Whose  changing  looks  a  rising  storm  bespoke, 
Ere  from  his  lips  the  dread  explosion  broke, 
The  trumpets  sounded,  and  before  his  face 
Were  led  the  captives  of  the  Patriarchs'  race, 
— A  lovely  and  a  venerable  band 
Of  young  and  old,  amidst  their  foes  they  stand  ; 
Unawi-d  they  see  the  fiery  trial  near; 
They  fear'd  their  God,  and  knew  no  oiher  fear. 


186  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 


To  light  the  dusky  scene,  resplendent  fires, 
Of  pine  and  cedar,  blazed  in  lofty  pyres  ; 
While  from  the  east  the  moon  with  doubtful  gleams 
Now  tipt  the  hills,  now  glanced  athwart  the  streams, 
Till,  darting  through  the  clouds  her  beauteous  eye, 
She  open'd  all  the  temple  of  the  sky; 
The  Giants,  closing  in  a  narrower  ring, 
By  turns  survey'd  the  prisoners  and  the  king. 
Javan  stood  forth  ; — to  all  the  youth  was  known, 
And  every  eye  was  fix'd  on  him  alone. 


CANTO  NINTH. 

The  King's  Determination  to  sacrifice  the  Patriarchs  and  their  Families  to  hit 
Demon- Gods — His  Sentence  on  Javan — Zillah's  Distress — The  Sorcerer  prt- 
tendg  to  declare  the  Secret  of  the  Birth  of  tie  King,  and  proposes  his  Deification— 
Enoch  appears. 

A  GLEAM  of  joy,  at  that  expected  sight, 

Shot  o'er  the  monarch's  brow  with  baleful  light : 

"Behold,"  thought  he,  "the  great  decisive  hour; 

Ere  morn,  these  sons  of  God  shall  prove  my  power : 

Offer'd  by  me  their  blood  shall  be  the  price 

Of  demon-aid  to  conquer  Paradise." 

Thus  while  he  threaten'd,  Javan  caught  his  view, 

And  instantly  his  visage  changed  its  hue ; 

Inflamed  with  rage  past  utterance,  he  frown'd, 

He  gnash'd  his  teeth,  and  wildly  glared  around, 

As  one  who  saw  a  spectre  in  the  air, 

And  durst  not  look  upon  it,  nor  forbear; 

Still  on  the  youth,  his  eye,  wherever  cast, 

Abhorrently  return'd,  and  fix'd  at  last: 

"  Slaves  !  smite  the  traitor ;  be  his  limbs  consign'd 

To  flames,  his  ashes  scatter'd  to  the  wind  !" 

He  cried  in  tones  so  vehement,  so  loud, 

Instinctively  recoil'd  the  shuddering  crowd; 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  1S7 

And  ere  the  guards  to  seize  their  victim  rush'd, 

The  youth  was  pleading — every  breath  was  hush'd  ; 

Pale,  but  undauntedly,  he  faced  his  foes  ; 

Warm  as  he  spoke  his  kindling  spirit  rose ; 

Well  pleased,  on  him  the  Patriarch-fathers  smiled, 

And  every  mother  loved  him  as  her  child. 

"Monarch  !  to  thee  no  traitor,  here  I  stand; 
These  are  my  brethren,  this  my  native  land  ; 
My  native  land,  by  sword  and  fire  consumed, 
My  brethren  captive,  and  to  death  foredoom'd ; 
To  these  indeed  a  rebel  in  my  youth, 
A  fugitive  apostate  from  the  truth, 
Too  late  repentant,  I  confess  my  crime, 
And  mourn  o'er  lost  irrevocable  time. 
— When  from  thy  camp  by  conscience  urged  to  flee, 
I  plann'd  no  wrong,  I  laid  no  snare  for  thee : 
Did  I  provoke  these  sons  of  innocence, 
Against  thine  arms,  to  rise  in  vain  defence? 
No;  I  conjured  them,  ere  this  threaten'd  hour, 
In  sheltering  forests  to  escape  thy  power; 
Firm  in  their  rectitude,  they  scorn'd  to  fly  ; 
Thy  foes  they  were  not, — they  resolved  to  die. 
Yet  think  not  thou,  amidst  thy  warlike  bands, 
They  lie  beyond  redemption  in  thine  hands: 
The  God  in  whom  they  trust  may  help  them  still, 
They  know  he  can  deliver,  and  HE  WILL; 
Whether  by  life  or  death,  afflicts  them  not, 
On  his  decree,  not  thine,  they  rest  their  lot. 
For  me,  unworthy  with  the  just  to  share 
Death  or  deliverance,  this  is  Javan's  prayer: 
Mercy,  O  God  !  to  these  in  life  be  shown, 
I  die  rejoicing,  if  I  die  alone." 

"Thou  shah  not  die  alone,"  a  voice  replied, 
A  well-known  voice — 'twas  Zillah  at  his  side ; 
She,  while  he  spake,  with  eagerness  to  hear, 
Step  after  step,  unconsciously  drew  near; 
Her  bosom  with  severe  compunction  wrung, 
Pleased  or  alarm'd,  on  every  word  she  hung. 


_~  '  ~.~  1 

I 


188  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

He  turn'd  his  face  ; — with  agonizing  air, 

In  all  the  desolation  of  despair, 

She  stood  ;  her  hands  to  heaven  uplift  and  clasp'd, 

Then  suddenly  unloosed,  his  arm  she  grasp'd, 

And  thus,  in  wild  apostrophes  of  wo, 

Vented  her  grief  while  tears  refused  to  flow. 

"  Oh  I  have  wrong'd  thee,  Javan  ! — Let  us  be 
Espoused  in  death  : — No,  I  will  die  for  thee. 
— Tyrant !  behold  thy  victim  ;  on  .my  head 
Be  all  the  bitterness  of  vengeance  shed, 
But  spare  the  innocent;  let  Javan  live, 
Whose  crime  was  love :— Can  Javan  too  forgive 
Love's  lightest,  fondest  weakness,  maiden-shame, 
— It  was  not  pride, — that  hid  my  bosom-flame  ? 
And  wilt  thou  mourn  the  poor  transgressor's  death, 
Who  says,  'I  love  thee,'  w.ith  her  latest  breath  ? 
And  when  thou  think'st  of  days  and  years  gone  by, 
Will  thoughts  of  Zillah  sometimes  swell  thine  eye  ? 
If  ever  thou  hast  cherish'd  in  thine  heart 
Visions  of  hope  in  which  I  bore  a  part ; 
If  ever  thou  hast  long'd  with  me  to  share 
One  home-born  joy,  one  home-endearing,  care  ; 
If  thou  didst  ever  love  me  ; — speak  the  word, 
Which  late  with  feign'd  indifference  I  heard; 
Tell  me,  thou  lov'st  me  still ; — haste,  Javan,  mark, 
How  high  those  ruffians  pile  the  faggots, — hark, 
How  the  flames  crackle, — see,  how  fierce  the)''  glare, 
Like  fiery  serpents  hissing  through  the  air  ; 
Farewell ;  I  fear  them  not. — Now  seize  me.  bind 
These  willing  limbs, — ye  cannot  touch  the  mind ; 
Unawed,  I  stand  on  Nature's  failing  brink  : 
— Nay,  look  not  on  me,  Javan,  lest  I  shrink  ; 
Give  me  thy  prayers,  but  turn  away  thine  eye, 
That  I  may  lift  my  soul  to  Heaven,  and  die." 

Thus  Zillah  raved  in  passionate  distress, 
Till  frenzy  soften'd  into  tenderness; 
Sorrow  and  love,  with  intermingling  grace, 
Terror  and  beauty,  lighten'd  o'er  her  face  ; 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  18« 

Her  voice,  her  eye,  in  every  soul  was  felt, 

And  Giant-hearts  were  moved,  umvont  to  melt. 

Javan,  in  wonder,  pity,  and  delight, 

Almost  forgot  his  being  at  the  sight ; 

That  bending  form,  those  suppliant  accents,  seem 

The  strange  illusions  of  a  lover's  dream; 

And  while  she  clung  upon  his  arm,  he  found 

His  limbs,  his  lips,  as  by  enchantment,  bound; 

.He  dare  not  touch  her,  lest  the  charm  should  break, 

He  dare  not  move,  lest  he  himself  should  wake. 

But  when  she  ceased  to  speak,  and  he  to  hear, 
The  silence  startled  him  ; — cold,  shivering  fear 
Crept  o'er  his  nerves ; — in  thought  he  cast  his  eye 
Back  on  the  world,  and  heaved  a  bitter  sigh, 
Thus  from  life's  sweetest  pleasures  to  be  torn, 
Just  when  he  seem'd  to  new  existence  born, 
And  cease  to  feel,  when  feeling  ceased  to  be 
A  fever  of  protracted  misery, 
And  cease  to  love,  when  love  no  more  was  pain ; 
'Twas  but  a  pang  of  transient  weakness  : — "  Vain 
Are  all  thy  sorrows,"  falteringly  he  said  ; 
"Already  I  am  number'd  with  the  dead; 
But  long  and  blissfully  may  Zillah  live  ! 
— And  canst  thou  '  Javan's  cruel  scorn'  forgive? 
And  wilt  thou  mourn  the  poor  transgressor's  death, 
Who  says,  '  I  love  thee,'  with  his  latest  breath  ? 
And  when  thou  think'st  of  days  and  years  gone  by, 
Will  thoughts  of  Javan  sometimes  swell  thine  eye? 
Ah!  while  I  wither'd  in  thy  chilling  frown, 
'Twas  easy  then  to  lay  life's  burden  down  ; 
When  singly  sentenced  to  these  flames,  my  mind 
Gloried  in  leaving  all  I  loved  behind  ; 
How  hast  thou  triurnph'd  o'er  me  in  this  hour  ! 
One  look  hath  crush'd  my  soul's  collected  power; 
Thy  scorn  I  might  endure,  thy  pride  defy, 
But  oh  thy  kindness  makes  it  hard  to  die  !" 

"Then  we  will  die  together." — "  Zillah  !  no. 
Thou  shall  not  perish  ;  let  me,  let  me  go  ; 


100  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Behold  thy  parents  !  calm  thy  father's  fears  ; 
Thy  mothef  weeps  ;  canst  thou  resist  her  tears  ?" 

"Away  with  folly  !"  in  tremendous  tone, 
Exclaim'd  a  voice,  more  horrid  than  the  groan 
Of  famish'd  tiger  leaping  on  his  prey; 
— Crouch'd  at  the  monarch's  feet  the  speaker  lay; 
But  starting  up,  in  his  ferocious  mien 
That  monarch's  ancient  foster-sire  was  seen, 
The  goatherd, — he  who  snatch'd  him  from  the  flood, 
The  sorcerer,  who  nursed  him  up  to  blood : 
Who,  still  his  evil  genius,  fully  bent 
On  one  bold  purpose,  went  where'er  he  went ; 
That  purpose,  long  in  his  own  bosom  seal'd, 
Ripe  for  fulfilment  now,  he  thus  reveal'd. 
Full  in  the  midst  he  rush'd ;  alarm'd,  aghast, 
Giants  and  captives  trembled  as  he  pass'd, 
For  scarcely  seem'd  he  of  the  sons  of  earth  ; 
Unchronicled  the  hour  that  gave  him  birth ; 
Though  shrunk  his  cheek,  his  temples  deeply  plough'd. 
Keen  was  his  vulture-eye,  his  strength  unbow'd; 
Swarthy  his  features  ;  venerably  gray 
His  beard  dishevell'd  o'er  his  bosom  lay: 
Bald  was  his  front ;  but,  white  as  snow  behind, 
His  ample  locks  were  scatter'd  to  the  wind-; 
Naked  he  stood,  save  round  his  loins  a  zone 
Of  shagged  fur,  and  o'er  his  shoulders  thrown 
A  serpent's  skin,  that  cross'd  his  breast,  and  round 
His  body  thrice  in  glittering  volumes  wound. 

All  gazed  with  horror, — deep,  unutter'd  thought 
In  every  muscle  of  his  visage  wrought; 
His  eye,  as  if  his  eye  could  see  the  air, 
Was  fix'd  :  up-writhing  rose  his  horrent  hair; 
His  limbs  grew  dislocate,  convulsed  his  frame; 
Deep  from  his  chest  mysterious  noises  came ; 
Now  purring,  hissing,  barking,  then  they  swell'd 
To  hideous  dissonance  ;  he  shriek'd,  he  yell'd, 
As  if  the  Legion-fiend  his  soul  possess'd, 
And  a  whole  hell  were  worrying  in  his  breast ; 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD.          W 


Then  down  he  dash'd  himself  on  earth,  and  roll'd 

In  agony,  till  powerless,  stiff,  and  cold, 

With  face  upturn'd  to  heaven,  and  arms  outspread, 

A  ghastly  spectacle,  he  lay  as  dead  : 

The  living  too  stood  round  like  forms  of  death, 

And  every  pulse  was  hush'd,  and  every  breath. 

%  Meanwhile  the  wind  arose,  the  clouds  were  driven 

In  watery  masses  through  the  waste  of  heaven, 

The  groaning  woods  foretold  a  tempest  nigh, 

And  silent  lightning  skirmish'd  in  the  sky. 

Ere  long  the  wizard  started  from  the  ground, 
Giddily  reel'd,  and  look'd  bewilder' d  round, 
Till  on  the  king  he  fix'd  his  hideous  gaze  ; 
Then  rapt  with  ecstasy,  and  broad  amaze, 
He  kneel'd  in  adoration,  humbly  bow'd 
His  face  upon  his  hands,  and  cried  aloud ; 
Yet  so  remote  and  strange  his  accents  fell, 
They  seem'd  the  voice  of  an  invisible  : 
— "  Hail !  king  and  conqueror  of  the  peopled  earth, 
And  more  than  king  or  conqueror !    Know  thy  birth: 
Thou  art  a  ray  of  uncreated  fire, 
The  sun  himself  is  thy  celestial  sire; 
The  moon  thy  mother,  who  to  rne  consign'd 
Her  babe  in  secrecy,  to  bless  mankind. 
These  eyes  have  watch'd  thee  rising,  year  by  year, 
More  great,  more  glorious  in  thine  high  career. 
As  the  young  eagle  plies  his  growing  wings 
In  bounded  flights,  and  sails  in  wider  rings, 
Till  to  the  fountain  of  meridian  day, 
Full  plumed  and  perfected,  he  soars  away; 
Thus  have  I  mark'd  thee,  since  thy  course  begun, 
Still  upward  tending  to  thy  sire  the  sun  : 
Now  midway  meet  him;  from  yon  flaming  height, 
Chase  the  vain  phantoms  of  cherubic  licrlit; 
There  build  a  tower,  whose  spiral  top  shall  rise, 
Circle  o'er  circle  lessening  to  the  skies: 
The  stars,  thy  brethren,  in  their  spheres  shall  stand 
To  hail  thee  welcome  to  thy  native  land : 


194  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD. 

The  moon  shall  clasp  thee  in  her  glad  embrace, 
The  sun  behpld  his  image  in  thy  face, 
And  call  thee,  as  his  offspring  and  his  heir, 
His  throne,  his  empire,  and  his  orb  to  share." 

Rising  and  turning  his  terrific  head, 
That  chill'd  beholders,  thus  the  enchanter  said : 
— "  Prepare,  prepare  the  piles  of  sacrifice, 
Tne  power  that  rules  the  earth  shall  rule  the  sides ; 
Hither,  O  chiefs !  the  captive  Patriarchs  bring, 
And  pour  their  blood  an  offering  to  your  king; 
He,  like  his  sire  the  sun,  in  transient  clouds, 
His  veil'd  divinity  from  mortals  shrouds, 
Too  pure  to  shine  till  these  his  foes  are  slain, 
And  conquer'd  Paradise  hath  crown'd  his  reign. 
Haste,  heap  the  fallen  cedars  on  the  pyres, 
And  give  the  victims  living  to  the  fires  : 
Shall  He,  in  whom  they  vainly  trust,  withstand 
Your  sovereign's  wrath,  or  pluck  them  from  his  hand? 
We  dare  Him ; — if  He  saves  his  servants  now, 
To  Him  let  every  knee  in  nature  bow, 

For  HE  is  GOD" at  that  most  awful  name, 

A  spasm  of  horror  wither'd  up  his  frame, 

Even  as  he  stood  and  look'd ; — he  looks,  he  stands, 

With  heaven-defying  front,  and  clenched  hands, 

And  lips  half-open'd,  eager  from  his  breast 

To  bolt  the  blasphemy,  by  force  represt ; 

For  not  in  feign'd  abstraction,  as  before, 

He  practised  foul  deceit  by  damned  lore ; 

A  frost  was  on  his  nerves,  and  in  his  veins 

A  fire,  consuming  with  infernal  pains ; 

Conscious,  though  motionless,  his  limbs  were  grown ; 

Alive  to  suffering,  but  alive  in  stone. 

In  silent  expectation,  sore  amazed, 
The  king  and  chieftains  on  the  sorcerer  gazed; 
Awhile  no  sound  was  heard,  save  through  the  woods 
The  wind  deep-thundering,  and  the  dashing  floods  : 
At  length,  with  solemn  step,  amidst  the  scene, 
Where  that  false  prophet  show'd  his  frantic  mien, 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  1« 

Where  lurid  flames  from  green-wood  altars  burn'd, 

Enoch  stood  forth  ;— on  him  all  eyes  were  turn'd  ; 

O'er  his  dim  form  and  saintly  visage  fell 

The  light  that  glared  upon  that  priest  of  hell. 

Unutterably  awful  was  his  look; 

Through  every  joint  the  Giant-monarch  shook; 

Shook  like  Belshazzar,  in  his  festive  hall, 

When  the  hand  wrote  his  judgment  on  the  wall  ;* 

Shook,  like  Eliphaz,  with  dissolving  fright,t 

In  thoughts  amidst  the  visions  of  the  night, 

When  as  the  spirit  pass'd  before  his  face, 

Nor  limb,  nor  lineament  his  eye  could  trace ; 

A  form  of  mystery,  that  chill' d  his  blood, 

Close  at  his  couch  in  living  terror  stood, 

And  death-like  silence,  till  a  voice  more  drear, 

More  dreadful  than  the  silence,  reach'd  his  ear. 

Thus  from  surrounding  darkness  Enoch  brake, 

And  thus  the  Giant  trembled  while  he  spake. 


CANTO  TENTH. 

TTte  Propheey  of  Enoch  concerning-  the  Sorcerer,  the  King,  and  the  Flood — Bit 
Translation  to  Heaven — The  Conclusion. 

"  THE  Lord  is  jealous : — He,  who  reigns  on  high, 
Upholds  the  earth,  and  spreads  abroad  the  sky ; 
His  voice  the  moon  and  stars  by  night  obey, 
He  sends  the  sun  his  servant  forth  by  day : 
From  Him  all  beings  came,  on  Him  depend, 
To  Him  return,  their  Author,  Sovereign,  End. 
Who  shall  destroy  when  He  would  save  ?  or  stand, 
When  Ho  destroys,  the  stroke  of  his  right  hand  ? 
With  none  His  name  and  power  will  He  divide, 
For  HE  is  GOD,  and  there  is  none  beside. 

"  The  proud  shall  perish ; — mark  how  wild  his  air 
In  impotence  of  malice  and  despair, 

•  Dan.  v.  1—31.  f  Job  iv.  13— SI. 

OL.  I.  \*l 


1M  THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOO1». 

What  frenzy  fires  the  bold  blasphemer's  cheek  ! 
He  looks  the  curses  which  he  cannot  speak. 
A  hand  hath  touch'd  him  that  he  once  defied ; 
Touch'd,  and  for  ever  crush'd  him  in  his  pride ; 
Yet  shall  he  live,  despised  as  fear'd  before ; 
The  great  deceiver  shall  deceive  no  more  ; 
Children  shall  pluck  the  beard  of  him  whose  arts 
Palsied  the  boldest  hands,  the  stoutest  hearts ; 
His  vaunted  wisdom  fools  shall  laugh  to  scorn, 
When  muttering  spells,  a  spectacle  forlorn, 
A  drivelling  idiot,  he  shall  fondly  roam 
From  house  to  house,  and  never  find  a  home."    . 

The  wizard  heard  his  sentence,  nor  remain'd 
A  moment  longer ;  from  his  trance  unehain'd, 
He  plunged  into  the  woods ; — the  Prophet  then 
Turn'd,  and  took  up  his  parable  again. 

"  The  proud  shall  perish  : — monarch  !  know  thy  doom : 
Thy  bones  shall  lack  the  shelter  of  a  tomb ; 
Not  in  the  battle-field  thine  eyes  shall  close, 
Slain  upon  thousands  of  thy  slaughter'd  foes  ; 
Not  on  the  throne  of  empire,  nor  the  bed 
Of  weary  Nature,  thou  shall  bow  thine  head  : 
Death  lurks  in  ambush ;  Death  without  a  name, 
Shall  pluck  thee  from  thy  pinnacle  of  fame  ; 
At  eve,  rejoicing  o'er  thy  finish'd  toil, 
Thy  soul  shall  deem  the  universe  her  spoil ; 
The  dawn  shall  see  thy  carcass  cast  away, 
The  wolves,  at  sunrise,  slumber  on  their  prey. 
Cut  from  the  living,  whither  ddst  thou  go  ? 
Hades  is  moved  to  meet  thee  from  below  ;* 
The  kings  thy  sword  had  slain,  the  mighty  dead, 
Start  from  their  thrones  at  thy  descending  tread ; 
They  ask  in  scorn, — '  Destroyer !  is  it  thus  ? 
Art  thou, — thou  too, — become  like  one  of  us  ? 
Torn  from  the  feast  of  music,  wine,  and  mirth, 
The  worms  thy  covering,  and  thy  couch  the  earth. 
How  art  thou  fall'n  from  thine  ethereal  height, 
Son  of  the  morning !  sunk  in  endless  night  • 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  1»5 

How  art  thou  fall'n,  \vho  said'st  in  pride  of  soul, 
I  will  ascend  above  the  starry  pole, 
Thence  rule  the  adoring  nations  with  my  nod, 
And  set  my  throne  above  the  Mount  of  God  ! 
Spilt  in  the  dust,  thy  blood  pollutes  the  ground  ; 
Sought  by  the  eyes  that  fear'd  thee,  yet  not  found ; 
Thy  chieftains  pause,  they  turn  thy  relics  o'er, 
Then  pass  thee  by, — for  thou  art  known  no  more. 
Hail  to  thine  advent !     Potentate,  in  hell, 
Unfear'd,  unflatter'd,  undistinguish'd  dwell ; 
On  earth  thy  fierce  ambition  knew  no  rest, 
A  worm,  a  flame,  for  ever  in  thy  breast ; 
Here  feel  the  rage  of  unconsuming  fire, 
Intense,  eternal,  impotent  desire  ; 
Here  lie,  the  deathless  worm's  unwasting  prey, 
In  chains  of  darkness  till  the  judgment-day.' 

"  Thus  while  the  dead  thy  fearful  welcome  sing, 
Thy  living  slaves  bewail  their  vanish'd  king. 
Then,  though  thy  reign  with  infamy  expire, 
Fulfill'd  in  death  shall  be  thy  vain  desire ; 
The  traitors,  reeking  with  thy  blood,  shall  swear, 
They  saw  their  sovereign  ravish'd  through  the  air, 
And  point  thy  star  revolving  o'er  the  night, 
A  bak-ful  comet  with  portentous  light, 
Midst  clouds  and  storms  denouncing  from  afar 
Famine,  and  havoc,  pestilence  and  war. 
Temples,  not  tombs,  thy  monuments  shall  be, 
And  altars  blaze  on  hills  and  groves  to  thee; 
A  pyramid  shall  consecrate  thy  crimes, 
Thy  name  and  honours  to  succeeding  times ; 
There  shajl  thine  image  hold  the  highest  place 
Among  the  gods  of  man's  revolted  race ! 

"  That  race  shall  perish  : — Men  and  Giants,  all 
Thy  kindred  and  thy  worshippers  shall  fall. 
The  bab.',  whose  life  with  yesterday  began, 
May  spring  to  youth,  and  ripen  into  man  ; 
But  ere  his  locks  are  tinged  with  fading  gray, 
This  world  of  sinners  shall  be  swept  away. 


196  THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Jehovah  lifts  his  standard  to  the  skies, 

Swift  at  the  signal  winds  and  vapours  rise ; 

The  sun  in  sackcloth  veils  his  face  at  noon,— 

The  stars  are  quench'd,  and  turn'd  to  blood  the  mooii. 

Heaven's  fountains  open,  clouds  dissolving  roll 

In  mingling  cataracts  from  pole  to  pole, 

Earth's  central  sluices  burst,  the  hills  uptorn, 

In  rapid  whirlpools  down  the  gulf  are  borne : 

The  voice  that  taught  the  Deep  his  bounds  to  know, 

'  Thus  far,  O  Sea  !  nor  farther  shalt  thou  go,' — 

Sends  forth  the  floods  commission'd  to  devour 

With  boundless  license,  and  resistless  power; 

They  own  no  impulse  but  the  tempest's  sway, 

Nor  find  a  limit  but  the  light  of  day. 

!'  The  vision  opens  : — sunk  beneath  the  wave, 
The  guilty  share  an  universal  grave ; 
One  wilderness  of  water  rolls  in  view, 
And  heaven  and  ocean  wear  one  turbid  hue ; 
Still  stream  unbroken  torrents  from  the  skies, 
Higher  beneath  the  inundations  rise ; 
A  lurid  twilight  glares  athwart  the  scene, 
Low  thunders  peal,  faint  lightnings  flash  between. 
— Methinks  I  see  a  distant  vessel  ride, 
A  lonely  object  on  the  shoreless  tide ; 
Within  whose  ark  the  innocent  have  found 
Safety,  while  stay'd  Destruction  ravens  round  ; 
Thus,  in  the  hour  of  vengeance,  God,  who  knows 
His  servants,  spares  them,  while  He  smites  his  foes. 

"  Eastward  I  turn  ; — o'er  all  the  deluged  lands, 
Unshaken  yet,  a  mighty  mountain  stands, 
Where  Seth,  of  old,  his  flock  to  pasture  led, 
And  watch'd  the  stars  at  midnight  from  its  head : 
An  island  now,  its  darkx,  majestic  form 
Scowls  through  the  thickest  ravage  of  the  storm ; 
While  on  its  top,  the  monument  of  fame, 
Built  by  thy  murderers  to  adorn  thy  name, 
Defies  the  shock  ; — a  thousand  cubits  high, 
Th(  sloping  pyramid  ascends  the  sky. 


THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  197 

Thither,  their  latest  refuge  in  distress, 
Like  hunted  wolves,  the  rallying  Giants  press  ; 
Round  the  broad  base  of  that  stupendous  tower 
The  shuddering  fugitives  collect  their  power, 
Cling  to  the  dizzy  cliff,  o'er  ocean  bend, 
And  howl  with  terror  as  the  deeps  ascend. 
The  mountain's  strong  foundations  still  endure, 
The  heights  repel  the  surge. — Awhile  secure, 
And  cheer'd  with  frantic  hope,  thy  votaries  climb 
The  fabric,  rising  step  by  step,  sublime. 
Beyond  the  clouds  they  see  the  summit  glow 
In  heaven's  pure  daylight,  o'er  the  gloom  below; 
There  too  thy  worshipp'd  image  shines  like  fire, 
In  the  full  glory  of  thy  fabled  sire. 
They  hail  the  omen,  and  with  heart  and  voice 
Call  on  thy  name,  and  in  thy  smile  rejoice : 
False  omen !  on  thy  name  in  vain  they  call ; 
Fools  in  their  joy  ; — a  moment  and  they  fall. 
Rent  by  an  earthquake  of  the  buried  plain, 
And  shaken  by  the  whole  disrupted  main, 
The  mountain  trembles  on  its  failing  base, 
It  slides,  it  stoops,  it  rushes  from  its  place  ; 
From  all  the  Giants  bursts  one  drowning  cry  ; 
Hark  !  'tis  thy  name, — they  curse  it  as  they  die ; 
Sheer  to  the  lowest  gulf  the  pile  is  hurl'd, 
The  last  sad  wreck  of  a  devoted  world. 

"  So  fall  transgressors : — Tyrant !  now  fulfil 
Thy  secret  purposes,  thine  utmost  will ; 
Here  crown  thy  triumphs : — life  or  death  decree, 
The  weakest  here  disdains  thy  power  and  thee." 

Thus  when  the  Patriarch  ceased,  and  every  ear 
Still  listen'd  in  suspense  of  hope  and  fear, 
Sublime,  ineffable,  angelic  grace 
Beam'd  in  his  meek  and  venerable  face ; 
And  sudden  glory,  streaming  round  his  head, 
O'er  all  his  robes  with  lambient  lustre  spread; 
His  earthly  features  grew  divinely  bright, 
His  essence  seem'd  transforming  into  light. 

IT 


198  THE   WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Brief  silence,  like  the  pause  between  the  flash 

At  midnight,  and  the  following  thunder-crash, 

Ensued  : — Anon,  with  universal  cry, 

The  Giants  rush'd  upon  the  Prophet, — "  Die  !" 

The  king  leapt  foremost  from  his  throne ; — he  drew 

His  battle-sword,  as  on  his  mark  he  flew  ; 

With  aim  unerring,  and  tempestuous  sound, 

The  blade  descended  deep  along  the  ground  : 

The  foe  was  fled,  and,  self-o'erwhelm'd,  his  strength 

Hurl'd  to  the  earth  his  Atlantean  length ; 

But  ere  his  chiefs  could  stretch  the  helping  arm, 

He  sprang  upon  his  feet  in  pale  alarm ; 

Headlong  and  blind  with  rage  he  search'd  around, 

But  Enoch  walk'd  with  Gvd,  and  was  not  found, 

Yet  where  the  captives  stood,  in  holy  awe, 
Rapt  on  the  wings  of  cherubim,  they  saw 
Their  sainted  sire  ascending  through  the  night ; 
He  turn'd  his  face  to  bless  them  in  his  flight, 
Then  vanish'd : — Javan  caught  the  Prophet's  eye, 
And  snatch'd  his  mantle  falling  from  the  sky  ; 
O'er  him  the  Spirit  of  the  Prophet  came, 
Like  rushing  wind  awakening  hidden  ilame  : 
"  Where  is  the  God  of  Enoch  now  ?"  he  cried,* 
"  Captives,  come  forth  !    Despisers,  shrink  aside." 
He  spake,  and  bursting  through  the  Giant-throng, 
Smote  with  the  mantle  as  he  moved  along : 
A  power  invisible  their  rage  controll'd, 
Hither  and  thither  as  he  turn'd  they  roll'd  ; 
Unawed,  unharm'd,  the  ransom'd  prisoners  pass'd 
Through  ranks  of  foes  astonied  and  aghast : 
Close  in  the  youth's  conducting  steps  they  trod : 
— So  Israel  march'd  when  Moses  raised  his  rod, 
And  led  their  host,  enfranchised,  through  the  wave, 
The  people's  safeguard,  the  pursuers'  grave. 

Thus  from  the  wolves  this  little  flock  was  torn, 
And  sheltering  in  the  mountain-caves  till  morn, 

*  2  Kings  ii.  11. 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD.  199 

They  join'd  to  sing,  in  strains  of  full  delight, 
Songs  of  deliverance  through  the  dreary  night. 

The  Giants'  frenzy,  when  they  lost  their  prey, 
No  tongue  of  man  or  angel  might  portray  ; 
First  on  their  idol-gods  their  vengeance  turn'd, 
Those  gods  on  their  own  altar-piles  they  burn'd  ; 
Then,  at  their  sovereign's  mandate,  sallied  forth 
To  rouse  their  host  to  combat,  from  the  north ; 
Eager  to  risk  their  uttermost  emprise, 
Perish  ere  morn,  or  reign  in  Paradise. 
Now  the  slow  tempest,  that  so  long  had  lower'd, 
Keen  in  thc-ir  faces  sleet  and  hailstones  shower'd  ; 
The  winds  blew  loud,  the  waters  roar'd  around, 
An  earthquake  rock'd  the  agonizing  ground ; 
Red  in  the  west  the  burning  mount,  array'd 
With  tenfold  terror  by  incumbent  shade, 
(For  moon  and  stars  were  wrapt  in  dunnest  gloom,) 
Glared  like  a  torch  amidst  creation's  tomb : 
So  Sinai's  rocks  were  kindled  when  they  felt 
Their  Maker's  footstep,  and  began  to  melt ; 
Darkness  was  his  pavilion,  whence  He  came, 
Hid  in  the  brightness  of  descending  flame, 
While  storm,  and  whirlwind,  and  the  trumpet's  blast, 
Proclaim'd  his  law  in  thunder,  as  He  pass'd. 

The  Giants  reach'd  their  camp : — the  night's  alarms 
Meanwhile  had  startled  all  their  slaves  to  arms : 
They  grasp'd  their  weapons  as  from  sleep  they  sprang, 
From  tent  to  tent  the  brazen  clangor  rang : 
The  hail,  the  earthquake,  the  mysterious  light 
Unnerved  their  strength,  o'erwhelm'd  them  with  affright. 
"  Warriors  !  to  battle  ; — summon  all  your  powers  ; 
Warriors  !  to  conquest ; — Paradise  is  ours," 
Exclaim'd  their  monarch  ; — not  an  arm  was  raised, 
In  vacancy  of  thought,  like  men  amazed, 
And  lost  amidst  confounding  dreams,  they  stood, 
With  palsied  eyes,  and  horror-frozen  blood. 
The  Giants'  rage  to  instant  madness  grew ; 
The  king  and  chiefs  on  their  own  legions  flew 


200  THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 

Denouncing  vengeance  ; — then  had  all  the  plain 
Been  heap'd  with  myriads  by  their  leaders  slain ; 
But  ere  a  sword  could  fall, — by  whirlwinds  driven, 
In  mighty  volumes,  through  the  vault  of  heaven, 
From  Eden's  summit,  o'er  the  camp  accurst, 
The  darting  fires  with  noon-day  splendour  burst ; 
And  fearful  grew  the  scene  above,  below 
With  sights  of  mystery,  and  sounds  of  woe. 
The  embattled  cherubim  appear'd  on  high, 
And  coursers,  wing'd  with  lightning,  swept  the  sky ; 
Chariots,  whose  wheels  with  living  instinct  roll'd, 
Spirits  of  unimaginable  mould, 
Powers,  such  as  dwell  in  heaven's  serenest  light, 
Too  pure,  too  terrible  for  mortal  sight, 
From  depth  of  midnight  suddenly  reveal'd, 
In  arms,  against  the  Giants  took  the  field. 
On  such  an  host  Elisha's  servant  gazed, 
,  When  all  the  mountain  round  the  prophet  blazed  ;* 
With  such  an  host,  when  war  in  heaven  was  wrought, 
Michael  against  the  Prince  of  Darkness  fought. 

Roused  by  the  trumpet  that  shall  AA-ake  the  dead, 
The  torpid  foe  in  consternation  fled ; 
The  Giants  headlong  in  the  uproar  ran, 
The  king  himself  the  foremost  of  the  van, 
Nor  e'er  his  rushing  squadrons  led  to  fight 
With  swifter  onset,  than  he  led  that  flight. 
Homeward  the  panic-stricken  legions  flew  ; 
Their  arms,  their  vestments,  from  their  limbs  they  threw ; 
O'er  shields. and  helms  the  reinless  camel  strode, 
And  gold  and  purple  strew'd  the  desert  road. 
When  through  the  Assyrian  army,  like  a  blast, 
At  midnight,  the  destroying  angel  pass'd, 
The  tyrant  that  defied  the  living  God, 
Precipitately  thus  his  steps  retrod ; 
Even  by  the  way  he  came,  to  his  own  land, 
Return'd,  to  perish  by  his  offspring's  hand.t 

*  2  Kings  vi.  17.  f  2  Kings  six.  33—37. 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE   FLOOD.  201 

So  fled  the  Giant-monarch ; — but  unknown 

The  hand  that  smote  his  life  ; — he  died  alone ; 

Amidst  the  tumult  treacherously  slain ; 

At  morn  his  chieftains  sought  their  lord  in  vain, 

Then,  reckless  of  the  harvest  of  their  toils, 

Their  camp,  their  captives,  all  their  treasured  spoils, 

Renew'd  their  flight  o'er  eastern  hills  afar, 

With  life  alone  escaping  from  that  war, 

In  which  their  king  had  hail'd  his  realm  complete, 

The  world's  last  province  bow'd  beneath  his  feet. 

As,  when  the  waters  of  the  Flood  declined* 
Rolling  tumultuously  before  the  wind, 
The  proud  waves  shrunk  from  low  to  lower  beds, 
And  high  the  hills  and  higher  raised  their  heads, 
Till  ocean  lay,  enchased  with  rock  and  strand, 
As  in  the  hollow  of  the  Almighty's  hand, 
While  earth  with  wrecks  magnificent  was  strew'd. 
And  stillness  reign'd  o'er  Nature's  solitude. 
— Thus  in  a  storm  of  horror  and  dismay, 
All  night  the  Giant-army  sped  away; 
Thus  on  a  lonely,  sad,  and  silent  scene, 
The  morning  rose  in  majesty  serene. 

Early  and  joyful  o'er  the  dewy  grass, 
Straight  to  their  glen  the  ransom'd  Patriarchs  pass : 
As  doves  released  their  parent  dwelling  find, 
They  fly  for  life,  nor  cast  a  look  behind  ; 
And  when  they  reach'd  the  dear  sequester' d  spot, 
Enoch  alone  of  all  their  train  "  mas  not." 
With  them  the  bard,  who  from  the  world  withdrew, 
Javan,  from  folly  and  ambition  flew ; 
Though  poor  his  lot,  within  that  narrow  bound, 
Friendship,  and  home,  and  faithful  love  he  found : 
There  did  his  wanderings  and  afflictions  cease, 
His  youth  was  penitence,  his  age  was  peace. 
Meanwhile  the  scatter'd  tribes  of  Eden's  plain 
Turn'd  to  their  desolated  fields  again, 
And  join'd  their  brethren,  captives  once  in  fight, 
But  left  to  freedom  in  that  dreadful  flight : 


202 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 


Thenceforth  redeem'd  from  war's  unnumber'd  woes, 

Rich  with  the  spoils  of  their  retreated  foes, 

By  Giant-tyranny  no  more  opprest, 

The  people  llourish'd,  and  the  land  had  rest. 


GREENLAND. 

A   POEM,  IN   FIVE  CANTO! 


203 


PREFACE. 

IN  the  following  Poem  the  Author  frankly  acknowledges  that  he  has  so  far 
failed,  as  to  be  under  the  necessity  of  sending  it  forth  incomplete,  or  suppressing 
it  altogether.  Why  he  has  not  done  the  latter  is  of  little  importance  to  the  pub 
lie,  which  will  assuredly  award  him  no  more  credit  than  his  performance,  taker, 
as  it  is,  can  command;  while  the  consequences  of  his  temerity,  or  his  misfor 
tune,  must  reniain  wholly  with  himself. 

The  original  plan  was  intended  to  embrace  the  most  prominent  events  in  the 
annals  of  ancient  and  modern  Greenland; — incidental  descriptions  of  whatever 
is  sublime  or  picturesque  in  the  seasons  and  scenery,  or  peculiar  in  the  supersti- 
tions, manners,  and  character  of  the  natives, — with  a  rapid  retrospect  of  that 
moral  revolution  which  the  Gospel  has  wrought  among  these  people  by  reclaim- 
ing them,  almost  universally,  from  dark  idolatry  and  savage  ignorance. 

Of  that  part  of  the  projected  poem  which  is  here  exhibited,  the  first  three  can- 
tos contain  a  sketch  of  the  history  of  the  ancient  Moravian  Church,  its  revival 
in  the  early  part  of  t!ie  eighteenth  century,  the  origin  of  the  missions  by  that 
people  to  Greenland,  and  the  voyage  of  the  first  three  brethren  who  went  thither 
in  1733.  The  fourth  canto  refers  principally  to  traditions  concerning  the  Nor- 
wegian colonies,  which  are  said  to  have  existed,  on  both  shores  of  Greenland, 
from  the  tenth  century  to  the  fifteenth.  In  the  fifth  canto  the  author  has  at- 
tempted, in  a  series  of  episodes,  to  sum  up  and  exemplify  the  chief  causes  of  the 
extinction  of  those  colonies,  and  the  abandonment  of  Greenland  for  several  cen- 
turies by  European  voyagers.  Although  this  canto  is  entirely  a  work  of  imagi- 
nation, the  fiction  has  not  been  adopted  merely  as  a  substitute  for  lost  facts,  but 
as  a  vehicle  fir  illustrating  some  of  the  most  splendid  and  striking  phenomena 
of  the  climate,  for  which  a  more  appropriate  place  might  not  have  been  found, 
even  if  the  poem  had  been  carried  to  a  successful  conclusion. 

The  principal  subjects  introduced  in  the  course  of  the  poem  will  be  found  in 
Crantz's  histories  of  the  Brethren  and  of  Greenland,  or  in  Risler's  Narratives, 
extracted  from  the  records  of  the  ancient  Unitas  Fratrum,  or  United  Brethren. 
To  the  accounts  of  Iceland,  by  various  travellers,  the  author  is  also  much  in 
debted. 

Sheffield,  March  27,  1819. 


204 


GREENLAND. 


CANTO  FIRST. 

The  frsl  three  Moravian  Missionaries  are  represented  as  on  their  Toyaa-b  to 
Orenland,  in- the  Year  1733— Sketch  of  the  Descent,  Establishment,  Persecu- 
tions, F.ztinction,  and  Revival  of  the  Church  of  the  United  Brethren  from  the 
tenth  to  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  Century— The  Origin  of  their  Missions 
to  the  tt'est  Indies  and  to  Greenland. 

THE  moon  is  watching  in  the  sky ;  the  stars 

Are  swiftly  wheeling  on  their  golden  cars  ; 

Ocean  out-tretcht  with  infinite  expanse, 

Serenely  slumbers  in  a  glorious  trance  ; 

The  tide  o'er  which  no  troubling  spirits  breathe, 

Reflects  a  cloudless  firmament  beneath  ; 

Where,  poised  as  in  the  centre  of  a  sphere, 

A  ship  above  and  ship  below  appear ; 

A  double  image,  pictured  on  the  deep, 

The  vessel  o'er  its  shadow  seems  to  sleep ; 

Yet,  like  the  host  of  heaven,  that  never  rest, 

With  evanescent  motion  to  the  west, 

The  pageant  glides  through  loneliness  and  night,      « 

And  leaves  behind  a  rippling  wake  of  light. 

Hark !  through  the  calm  and  silence,  of  the  scene, 
Slow,  solemn,  sweet,  with  many  a  pause  between, 
Celestial  music  swells  along  the  air ! 
— No ! — 'tis  the  evening  hymn  of  praise  and  prayer 
From  yonder  deck ;  where,  on  the  stern  retired, 
Three  humble  voyagers,  with  looks  inspired, 
And  hearts  enkindled  with  a  holier  flame 
Than  ever  lit  to  empire  or  to  fame, 
Devoutly  stand: — their  choral  accents  rise 
On  wings  of  harmony  beyond  the  skies  ; 
And  midst  the  songs,  that  Seraph-Minstrels  sing, 
Day  without  night,  to  their  immortal  King, 

FOL.  i.  18  205 


900 


GREENLAND. 


These  simple  strains, — which  erst  Bohemian  hills 

Echo'd  to  pathless  woods  and  desert  rills ; 

Now  heard  from  Shetland's  azure  bound, — are  known 

In  heaven  ;  and  He,  Avho  sits  upon  the  throne 

In  human  form,  with  mediatorial  power, 

Remembers  Calvary,  and  hails  the  hour, 

When,  by  the  Almighty  Father's  high  decree, 

The  utmost  north  to  Him  shall  bow  the  knee, 

And,  won  by  love,  an  untamed  rebel-race 

Kiss  the  victorious  Sceptre  of  his  grace. 

Then  to  His  eye,  whose  instant  glance  pervades 

Heaven's  heights,  Earth's  circle1,  Hell's  profoundest  shades, 

Is  there  a  group  more  lovely  than  those  three 

Night-watching  Pilgrims  on  the  lonely  sea  ? 

Or  to  His  ear,  that  gathers  in  one  sound 

The  voices  of  adoring  worlds  around, 

Comes  there  a  breath  of  more  delightful  praise 

Than  the  faint  notes  his  poor  disciples  raise, 

Ere  on  the  treacherous  main  they  sink  to  rest, 

Secure  as  leaning  on  their  Master's  breast  ? 

They  sleep  :  but  memory  wakes  ;  and  dreams  array 
Night  in  a  lively  masquerade  of  day ; 
The  land  they  seek,  the  land  they  leave  behind, 
Meet  on  mid-ocean  in  the  plastic  mind : 
One  brings  forsaken  home  and  friends  so  nigh, 
That  tears  in  slumber  swell  th'  unconscious  eye ; 
The  other  opens,  with  prophetic  view, 
Perils,  which  e'en  their  fathers  never  knew, 
(Though  school'd  by  suffering,  long  inured  to  toil, 
Outcasts  and  exiles  from  their  natal  soil ;) 
— Strange  scenes,  strange  men ;  untold,  untried  distress ; 
Pain,  hardships,  famine,  cold,  and  nakedness, 
Diseases  ;  death  in  every  hideous  form, 
On  shore,  at  sea,  by  fire,  by  flood,  by  storm  ; 
Wild  beasts  and  wilder  men  ; — unmoved  with  fear, 
Health,  comfort,  safety,  life,  they  count  not  dear, 
May  they  but  hope  a  Saviour's  love  to  show, 
And  warn  one  spirit  from  eternal  wo ; 


GREENLAND.  «07 


Nor  w\l\  they  faint ;  nor  can  they  strive  in  vain, 
Since  thus — to  live  is  Christ,  to  die  is  gain. 

'Tis  morn  : — the  bathing  moon  her  lustre  shrouds ; 
Wide  o'er  the  East  impends  an  arch  of  clouds, 
That  spans  the  ocean  ; — while  the  infant  dawn 
Peeps  through  the  portal  o'er  the  liquid  lawn, 
That  ruffled  by  an  April  gale  appears, 
Between  the  gloom  and  splendour  of  the  spheres, 
Dark-purple  as  the  moorland-heath,  when  rain 
Hangs  in  low  vapours  o'er  the  autumnal  plain : 
Till  the  full  Sun,  resurgent  from  the  flood, 
Looks  on  the  waves,  and  turns  them  into  blood  ; 
But  quickly  kindling,  as  his  beams  aspire, 
The  lambent  billows  play  in  forms  of  fire. 
— Where  is  the  Vessel  ? — Shining  through  the  light. 
Like  the  white  sea-fowl's  horizontal  flight, 
Yonder  she  wings,  and  skims,  and  cleaves  her  way 
Through  refluent  foam  and  iridescent  spray. 

Lo !  on  the  deck,  with  patriarchal  grace, 
Heaven  in  his  bosom  opening  o'er  his  face, 
Stands  CHRISTIAN  DAVID  ; — venerable  name  ! 
^Bright  in  the  records  of  celestial  fame, 
On  earth  obscure  ; — like  some  sequester' d  star, 
That  rolls  in  its  Creator's  beams  afar, 
Unseen  by  man  ;  till  telescopic  .iye, 
Sounding  the  blue  abysses  of  tho  sky, 
Draws  forth  its  hidden  beauty  into  light, 
And  adds  a  jewel  to  the  crown  of  night. 
Though  hoary  with  the  multitude  of  years 
Unshorn  of  strength,  between  his  young  compeers, 
He  towers ; — with  faith,  whose  boundless  glance  can  see 
Time's  shadows  brightening  through  eternity ; 
Love, — God's  own  love  in  his  pure  breast  enshrined ; 
Love, — love  to  man  the  magnet  of  his  mind  ; 
Sublimcr  schemes  maturing  in  his  thought 
Than  ever  statesman  plann'd  or  warrior  wrought ; 
While  with  rejoicing  tears,  and  rapturous  sighs, 
To  heaven  ascends  their  morning  sacrifice. 


r.-J 


GREENLAND. 


Whence  are  the  pilgrims  ?  whither  would  they  roam  ? 
Greenland  their  port ; — Moravia  was  their  home. 
Sprung  from  a  race  of  martyrs ;  men  who  bore 
The  cross  on  many  a  Golgotha,  of  yore  ; 
When  first  Sclavonian  tribes  the  truth  received 
And  princes  at  the  price  of  thrones  believed ; 
— When  WALDO,  flying  from  th'  apostate  west, 
In  German  wilds  his  righteous  cause  confess'd ; 
— When  WICKLIFFE,  like  a  rescuing  Angel,  found 
The  dungeon  where  the  word  of  God  lay  bound, 
Unloosed  its  chains,  and  led  it  by  the  hand, 
In  its  own  sunshine,  through  his  native  land : 
— When  Huss,  the  victim  of  perfidious  foes, 
To  heaven  upon  a  fiery  chariot  rose ; 
And  ere  he  vanish'd,  with  a  prophet's  breath, 
Foretold  th'  immortal  triumphs  of  his  death : 
— When  ZISKA,  burning  with  fanatic  zeal, 
Exchanged  the  Spirit's  sword  for  patriot  steel, 
And  through  the  heart  of  Austria's  thick  array 
To  Tabor's  summit  stabb'd  resistless  way ; 
But  there  (as  if  transfigured  on  the  spot 
The  world's  Redeemer  stood)  his  rage  forgot ; 
Deposed  his  arms  and  trophies  in  the  dust, 
Wept  like  a  babe,  and  placed  in  God  his  trust, 
While  prostrate  warriors  kiss'd  the  hallow'd  ground, 
And  lay,  like  slain,  in  silent  ranks  around : 
—When  mild  GREGORIUS,  in  a  lowlier  field, 
As  brave  a  witness,  as  unwont  to  yield 
As  ZISKA'S  self,  with  patient  footsteps  trod 
A  path  of  suffering,  like  the  Son  of  God, 
And  nobler  palms,  by  meek  endurance  won, 
Than  if  his  sword  had  blazed  from  sun  to  sun : 
Though  nature  fail'd  him  on  the  racking  wheel, 
He  felt  the  joys  which  parted  spirits  feel ; 
Rapt  into  bliss  from  ecstasy  of  pain, 
Imagination  wander'd  o'er  a  plain : 
Fair  in  the  midst,  beneath  a  morning  sky, 
A  tree  its  ample  branches  bore  on  high, 


GREENLAND. 


With  fragrant  bloom,  and  fruit  delicious  hung, 
While  birds  beneath  the  foliage  fed  and  sung ; 
All  glittering  to  the  sun  with  diamond  dew, 
O'er  sheep  and  kine  a  breezy  shade  it  threw ; 
A  lovely  boy,  the  child  of  hope  and  prayer, 
With  crook  and  shepherd's  pipe,  was  watching  there ; 
•  At  hand  three  venerable  forms  were  seen, 
In  simple  garb,  with  apostolic  mien, 
Who  mark'd  the  distant  fields  convulsed  with  strife, 
— The  guardian  Cherubs  of  that  Tree  of  Life  ; 
Not  armed  like  Eden's  host,  with  flaming  brands, 
Alike  to  friends  and  foes  they  stretch  their  hands, 
In  sign-of  peace,  and  while  Destruction  spread 
His  path  with  carnage,  welcomed  all  who  fled : 
— When  poor  COMENIUS,  with  his  little  flock, 
Escaped  the  wolves,  and  from  the  boundary  rock 
Cast  o'er  Moravian  hills  a  look  of  wo, 
Saw  the  green  vales  expand,  the  waters  flow, 
And  happier  years  revolving  in  his  mind, 
Caught  every  sound  that  murmur'd  on  the  wind ; 
As  if  his  eye  could  never  thence  depart, 
As  if  his  ear  were  seated  in  his  heart, 
And  his  full  soul  would  thence  a  passage  break, 
To  leave  the  body,  for  his  country's  sake ; 
While  on  his  knees  he  pour'd  the  fervent  prayer, 
That  God  would  make  that  martyr-land  his  care, 
And  nourish  in  its  ravaged  soil  a  root 
Of  GREGOR'S  Tree,  to  bear  perennial  fruit.1 

His  prayer  was  heard: — that  Church,  through  ages  past. 
AssaiPd  and  rent  by  persecution's  blast ; 
Whose  sons  no  yoke  could  crush,  no  burden  tire, 
Unawed  by  dungeons,  tortures,  sword,  and  fire, 
(Less  proof  against  the  world's  alluring  wiles, 
Whose  frowns  have  weaker  terrors  than  its  smiles ;) 
— That  Church  o'erthrown,  dispersed,  unpeopled,  dead. 
Oft  from  the  dust  of  ruin  raised  her  head, 
And  rallying  round  her  feet,  as  from  their  graves, 
Her  exiled  orphans,  hid  in  forest-caves  ; 

•    18* 


SIO  GREENLAND. 


Where,  midst  the  fastnesses  of  rocks  and  glens, 

Banded  like  robbers,  stealing  from  their  dens, 

By  night  they  met,  their  holiest  vows  to  pay, 

As  if  their  deeds  were  dark,  and  shunn'd  the  day ; 

While  Christ's  revilers,  in  his  seamless  robe, 

And  parted  garments,  flaunted  round  the  globe ; 

From  east  to  west  while  priestcraft's  banners  flew, 

And  harness'd  kings  his  iron  chariot  drew : 

— That  Church  advanced  triumphant,  o'er  the  ground, 

Where  all  her  conquering  martyrs  had  been  crown'd, 

Fearless  her  foe's  whole  malice  to  defy, 

And  worship  God  in  liberty, — or  die  : 

For  truth  and  conscience  oft  she  pour'd  her  blood, 

And  firmest  in  the  fiercest  conflicts  stood, 

Wresting  from  bigotry  the  proud  control 

Claim'd  o'er  the  sacred  empire  of  the  soul, 

Where  God,  the  judge  of  all,  should  fill  the  throne, 

And  reign,  as  in  his1  universe,  alone. 

'Twas  thus  through  centuries  she  rose  and  fell ; 
At  length  victorious  seem'd  the  gates  of  hell ; 
But  founded  on  a  rock,  which  cannot  move — 
Th'  eternal  rock  of  her  Redeemer's  love — 
That  Church,  which  Satan's  legions  thought  destroy'd, 
Her  name  extinct,  her  place  for  ever  void, 
Alive  once  more,  respired  her  native  air, 
But  found  no  freedom  for  the  voice  of  prayer : 
Again  the  cowl'd  oppressor  clank'd  his  chains, 
Flourish'd  his  scourge,  and  threaten'd  bonds  and  pains 
(His  arm  enfeebled  could  no  longer  kill, 
But  in  his  heart  he  was  a  murderer  still :) 
Then  CHRISTIAN  DAVID,  strengthen'd  from  above, 
Wise  as  the  serpent,  harmless  as  the  dove ; 
Bold  as  a  lion  on  his  Master's  part, 
In  zeal  a  seraph,  and  a  child  in  heart : 
Pluck'd  from  the  gripe  of  antiquated  laws, 
( — Even  as  a  mother  from  the  felon  jaws 
Of  a  lean  wolf,  that  bears  her  babe  away, 
With  courage  beyond  nature,  rends  the  prey,) 


GREENLAND.  til 


The  little  remnant  of  that  ancient  race  : 

— Far  in  Lusatian  woods  they  found  a  place  ; 

Thert — where  the  sparrow  builds  her  busy  nest, 

And  the  clime-changing  swallow  loves  to  rest, 

Thine  altar,  God  of  Hosts  !• — there  still  appear 

The  tribes  to  worship,  unassail'd  by  fear ; 

Not  like  their  fathers,  vex'd  from  age  to  age 

By  blatant  Bigotry's  insensate  rage, 

Abroad  in  every  place, — in  every  hour 

Awake,  alert,  and  ramping  to  devour. 

No ;  peaceful  as  the  spot  where  Jacob  slept, 

And  guard  all  night  the  journeying  angels  kept, 

Herrnhut  yet  stands  amidst  her  shelter'd  bowers  ; 

— The  Lord  hath  set  his  watch  upon  her  towers. 

Soon,  homes  of  humble  form,  and  structure  rude, 
Raised  sweet  society  in  solitude : 
And  the  lorn  traveller  there,  at  fall  of  night, 
Could  trace  from  distant  hills  the  spangled  light, 
Which  now  from  many  a  cottage  window  stream'd, 
Or  in  full  glory  round  the  chapel  beam'd ; 
While  hymning  voices,  in  the  silent  shade, 
Music  of  all  his  soul's  affections  made  ; 
Where  through  the  trackless  wilderness  erewhile, 
No  hospitable  ray  was  known  to  smile  ; 
Or  if  a  sudden  splendour  kindled  joy, 
'Twas  but  a  meteor  dazzling  to  destroy  : 
While  the  wood  echoed  to  the  hollow  owl, 
The  fox's  cry,  or  wolfs  lugubrious  howl. 

Unwearied  as  the  camel,  day  by  day, 
Tracks  through  unwater'd  wilds  his  doleful  way, 
Yet  in  his  breast  a  cherish'd  draught  retains, 
To  cool  the  fervid  current  in  his  veins, 
While  from  the  sun's  meridian  realms  he  brings 
The  gold  and  gems  of  Ethiopian  kings : 
So  CHRISTIAN  DAVID,  spending  yet  unspent, 
On  many  a  pilgrimage  of  mercy  went; 
Through  all  thrir  haunts  his  suffering  brethren  sought, 
A  nd  safely  to  that  land  of  promise  brought ; 


513  GREENLAND. 


While  in  his  bosom,  on  the  toilsome  road, 
A  secret  well  of  consolation  flow'd, 
Fed  from  the  fountain  near  th'  eternal  throne, 
— Bliss  to  the  world  unjrielded  and  unknown. 

In  stillness  thus  the  little  Zion  rose ; 
But  scarcely  found  those  fugitives  repose, 
Ere  to  the  West  with  pitying  eyes  they  turn'd ; 
Their  love  to  Christ  beyond  th'  Atlantic  burn'd. 
Forth  sped  their  messengers,  content  to  be 
Captives  themselves,  to  cheer  captivity ; 
Soothe  the  poor  Negro  with  fraternal  smiles, 
And  preach  deliverance  in  those  prison-isles, 
Where  man's  most  hateful  forms  of  being  meet, 
— The  tyrant  and  the  slave  that  licks  his  feet. 

O'er  Greenland  next  two  youths  in  secret  wept ; 
And  where  the  sabbath  of  the  dead  was  kept, 
With  pious  forethought,  while  their  hands  prepare 
Beds  which  the  living  and  unborn  shall  share, 
(For  man  so  surely  to  the  dust  is  brought, 
His  grave  before  his  cradle  may  be  wrought,) 
They  told  their  purpose,  each  o'erjoy'd  to  find 
His  own  idea  in  his  brother's  mind. 
For  counsel  in  simplicity  they  pray'd, 
And  vows  of  ardent  consecration  made : 
— Vows  heard  in  heaven ;  from  that  accepted  hour, 
Their  souls  were  clothed  with  confidence  and  power, 
Nor  hope  deferr'd  could  quell  their  hearts'  desire ; 
The  bush  once  kindled  grew  amidst  the  fire ; 
But  ere  its  shoots  a  tree  of  life  became, 
Congenial  spirits  caught  the  electric  flame  ; 
And  for  that  holy  service,  young  and  old, 
Their  plighted  faith  and  willing  names  enroll'd : 
Eager  to  change  the  rest,  so  lately  found, 
For  life-long  labours  on  barbarian  ground ; 
To  break,  through  barriers  of  eternal  ice, 
A  vista  to  the  gates  of  Paradise  ; 
And  light  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  pole 
The  tenfold  darkness  of  the  human  soul ; 


GREENLAND. 


To  man, — a  task  more  hopeless  than  to  bless 
With  Indian  fruits  that  arctic  wilderness ; 
With  God, — as  possible  when  unbegun 
As  though  the  destined  miracle  were  done. 

Three  chosen  candidates  at  length  went  forth. 
Heralds  of  mercy  to  the  frozen  north ; 
Like  mariners  with  seal'd  instructions  sent, 
They  went  in  faith,  (as  childless  Abram  went 
To  dwell  by  sufferance  in  a  land,  decreed 
The  future  birthright  of  his  promised  seed,) 
Unknowing  whither ; — uninquiring  why 
Their  lot  was  cast  beneath  so  strange  a  sky, 
Where  cloud  nor  star  appear'd,  to  mortal  sense 
Pointing  the  hidden  path  of  Providence, 
And  all  around  was  darkness  to  be  felt ; 
— Yet  in  that  darkness  light  eternal  dwelt ; 
They  knew, — and  'twas  enough  for  them  to  know, 
The  still  small  voice  that  whisper'd  them  to  go  ; 
For  He,  who  spake  by  that  mysterious  voice, 
Inspired  their  will,  and  made  His  call  their  choice. 

See  the  swift  vessel  bounding  o'er  the  tide, 
That  wafts,  with  CHRISTIAN  DAVID  for  their  guide, 
Two  young  Apostles  on  their  joyful  way 
To  regions  in  the  twilight  verge  of  day : 
Freely  they  quit  the  clime  that  gave  them  birth, 
Home,  kindred,  friendship,  all  they  loved  on  earth: 
What  things  were  gain  before,  accounting  loss, 
And  glorying  in  the  shame,  they  bear  the  cross : 
— Not  as  the  Spaniard,  on  his  flag  unfurl'd, 
A  bloody  omen  through  a  Pagan  world : 
— Not  the  vain  image,  which  the  Devotee 
Clasps  as  the  God  of  his  idolatry ; 
But  in  their  hearts,  to  Greenland's  western  shore, 
That  dear  memorial  of  their  Lord  they  bore ; 
Amidst  the  wilderness  to  lift  the  sign 
Of  wrath  appeased  by  sacrifice  divine ; 
And  bid  a  serpent-stung  and  dying  race 
Look  on  their  Healer,  and  be  saved  by  grace 


814  GREENLAND. 


CANTO  SECOND. 

Hopes  and  Fears — The  Brethren  pursue  their  foyag-e — Jl  Digression  on  Iceland. 

WHAT  are  thine  hopes,  Humanity  ! — thy  fears  ? 
Poor  voyager,  upon  this  flood  of  years", 
Whose  tide,  unturning,  hurries  to  the  sea 
Of  dark,  unsearchable  eternity, 
The  fragile  skiffs,  in  which  thy  children  sail 
A  day,  an  hour,  a  moment,  with  the  gale, 
Then  vanish ; — gone  like  eagles  on  the  wind, 
Or  fish  in  waves,  that  yield  and  close  behind  ? 
Thine  Hopes, — lost  anchors  buried  in  the  deep, 
That  rust,  through  storm  and  calm,  in  iron  sleep  ; 
Whose  cables,  loose  aloft  and  fix'd  below, 
Rot  with  the  sea-weed,  floating  to  and  fro ! 
Thy  Fears, — are  wrecks  that  strew  the  fatal  surge, 
Whose  whirlpools  swallow,  or  whose  currents  urge, 
Adventurous  barks  on  rocks,  that  lurk  at  rest, 
Where  the  blue  halcyon  builds  her  foam-light  nest ; 
Or  strand  them  on  illumined  shoals,  that  gleam 
Like  drifted  gold  in  summer's  cloudless  beam : 
Thus  would  thy  race,  beneath  their  parent's  eye, 
Live  without  knowledge,  without  prospect  die. 

But  when  Religion  bids  her  spirit  breathe, 
And  opens  bliss  above  and  wo  beneath ; 
When  God  reveals  his  march  through  Nature's  night 
His  steps  are  beauty,  and  his  presence  light, 
His  voice  is  life  : — the  dead  in  conscience  start ; 
They  feel  a  new  creation  in  the  heart. 
Ah !  then  Humanity,  thy  hopes,  thy  fears, 
How  changed,  how  wondrous  ! — On  this  tide  of  years, 
Though  the  frail  barks,  in  which  thine  offspring  sail 
Their  day,  their  hour,  their  moment  with  the  gale, 
Must  perish ; — Shipwreck  only  sets  them  free ; 
With  joys  unmeasured  as  eternity, 
They  ply  on  seas  of  glass  their  golden  oars, 
And  pluck  immortal  fruits  along  the  shores ; 


GREENLAND.  ill 


Nor  shall  their  cables  fail,  their  anchors  rust, 

Who  wait  the  resurrection  of  the  just : 

Moor'd  on  the  Rock  of  Ages,  though  decay 

Moulder  the  weak  terrestrial  frame  away, 

The  trumpet  sounds, — and  lo  !  wherever  spread, 

Earth,  air,  and  ocean  render  back  their  dead ; 

And  souls  with  bodies,  spiritual,  and  divine, 

In  the  new  heavens,  like  stars,  for  ever  shine. 

These  are  thine  Hopes : — thy  Fears  what  tongue  can  tell  ? 

Behold  them  graven  on  the  gates  of  Hell : 

"  The  wrath  of  God  abideth  here  :  his  breath 

Kindled  the  flames : — this  is  the  second  death." 

'Twas  Mercy  wrote  the  lines  of  judgment  there  ; 

None  who  from  earth  can  read  them  may  despair  ! 

Man  ! — let  the  warning  strike  presumption  dumb  ;— 

Awake,  arise,  escape  the  wrath  to  come  ; 

No  resurrection  from  thai  grave  shall  be  ; 

The  worm  within  is — immortality. 

The  terrors  of  Jffhovah,  and  his  grace, 
The  Brethren  bear  to  earth's  remotest  race. 
And  now,  exulting  on  their  swift  career, 
The  northern  waters  narrowing  in  the  rear, 
They  rise  upon  th'  Atlantic  flood,  that  rolls 
Shoreless  and  fathomless  between  the  poles, 
Whose  waves  the  east  and  western  world  divide, 
Then  gird  the  globe  with  one  circumfluent  tide  ; 
For  mighty  Ocean,  by  whatever  name 
Known  to  vain  man,  is  everywhere  the  same, 
And  deems  all  regions  by  his  gulfs  embraced 
But  vassal  tenures  of  his  sovereign  waste. 
Clear  shines  the  sun  ;  the  surge,  intensely  blue, 
Assumes  by  day  heaven's  own  aerial  hue : 
Buoyant  and  beautiful,  as  through  a  sky, 
On  balanced  wings,  behold  the  vessel  fly ! 
Invisibly  impell'd,  as  though  it  felt 
A  soul,  within  its  heart  of  oak  that  dwelt, 
Which  broke  the  billows  with  spontaneous  force, 
Ruled  the  frqe  elements,  and  chose  its  course. 


916  GREENLAND. 


Not  so : — and  yet  along  the  trackless  realm, 
A  hand  unseen  directs  th'  unconscious  helm ; 
The  Power  that  sojourn'd  in  the  cloud  by  day, 
And  fire  by  night,  on  Israel's,  desert  way ; 
That  Power  the  obedient  vessel  owns  : — His  will, 
Tempest  and  calm,  and  death  and  life,  fulfil. 

Day  following  day  the  current  smoothly  flows ; 
Labour  is  but  refreshment  from  repose  ; 
Perils  are  vanish'd ;  every  fear  resign'd ; 
Peace  walks  the  waves,  Hope  carols  on  the  wind ; 
And  time  so  sweetly  travels  o'er  the  deep, 
They  feel  his  motion  like  the  fall  of  sleep 
On  weary  limbs,  that,  stretch'd  in  stillness,,  seem 
To  float  upon  the  eddy  of  a  stream, 
Then  sink, — to  wake  in  some  transporting  dream. 
Thus,  while  the  Brethren  far  in  exile  roam, 
Visions  of  Greenland  show  their  future  home. 
— Now  a  dark  speck,  but  brightening  as  it  flies, 
A  vagrant  sea-fowl  glads  their  eager  eyes  ; 
How  lovely,  from  the  narrow  deck  to  see 
The  meanest  link  of  nature's  family, 
Which  makes  us  feel,  in  dreariest  solitude, 
Affinity  Avith  all  that  breathe  renew'd : 
At  once  a  thousand  kind  emotions  start, 
And  the  blood  warms  and  mantles  round  the  heart ! 
— O'er  the  ship's  lee,  the  waves  in  shadow  seen, 
Change  from  deep  indigo  to  beryl  green, 
And  -wreaths  of  frequent  weed,  that  slowly  float, 
Land  to  the  watchful  mariner  denote  : 
Ere  long  the  pulse  beats  quicker  through  his  breast, 
When,  like  a  range  of  evening  clouds  at  rest, 
Iceland's  gray  cliffs  and  ragged  coast  he  sees, 
But  shuns  them,  leaning  on  the  southern  breeze ; 
And  while  they  vanish  far  in  distance,  tells 
Of  lakes  of  fire  and  necromancers'  spells. 

Strange  Isle  !  a  moment  to  poetic  gaze 
Rise  in  thy  majesty  of  rocks  and  bays. 


GREENLAND. 


Glens,  fountains,  caves,  that  seem  not  things  of  earth, 

But  the  wild  shapes  of  some  prodigious  birth ; 

As  if  the  kraken,  monarch  of  the  sea, 

Wallowing  abroad  in  his  immensity, 

By  polar  storms  and  lightning  shafts  assail'd, 

Wedged  with  ice-mountains,  here  had  fought  and  fail'd ; 

Perish'd — and  in  the  petrifying  blast, 

His  hulk  became  an  island  rooted  fast ! 

— Rather,  from  ocean's  dark  foundation  hurl'd, 

Thou  art  a  type  of  his  mysterious  world, 

Buoy'd  on  the  desolate  abyss,  to  show 

What  wonders  of  creation  hide  below. 

Here  Hecla's  triple  peaks,  with  meteor  lights, 
Nature's  own  beacons,  cheer  hybernal  nights  : 
But  when  the  orient  flames  in  red  array, 
Like  ghosts  the  spectral  splendours  flee  the  day ; 
Morn  at  her  feet  beholds  supinely  spread 
The  carcass  of  the  old  chimera  dead, 
That  wont  to  vomit  flames  and  molten  ore, 
Now  cleft  asunder  to  the  inmost  core  ; 
In  smouldering  heaps,  wide  wrecks  and  cinders  strown, 
Lie  like  the  walls  of  Sodom  overthrown, 
(Ere  from  the  face  of  blushing  Nature  swept, 
And  where  the  city  stood  the  Dead  Sea  slept ;) 
While  inaccessible,  tradition  feigns, 
To  human  foot  the  guarded  top  remains, 
Where  birds  of  hideous  shape  and  doleful  note, 
Fate's  ministers,  in  livid  vapours  float. 

Far  off",  amid  the  placid  sunshine,  glow 
Mountains  with  hearts  of  fire  find  crests  of  snow, 
Whose  blacken'd  slopes  with  deep  ravines  entrench'd, 
Their  thunders  silenced,  and  their  lightnings  quench'd, 
Still  the  slow  heat  of  spent  eruptions  breathe, 
While  embryo  earthquakes  swell  their  wombs  beneath. 

Hark  !  from  yon  caldron  cave,  the  battle  sound 
Of  fire  and  water  warring  under  ground  ; 
Rack'd  on  the  wheels  of  an  ebullient  tide, 
Here  might  some  spirit,  fallen  from  bliss,  abide, 

•or,  i.  1ft 


918  GREENLAND. 


Such  fitful  wailings  of  intense  despair, 

Such  emanating  splendours  fill  the  air. 

— He  comes,  he  comes ;  the  infuriate  Geyser  springs 

Up  to  the  firmament  on  vapoury  wings  ; 

With  breathless  awe  the  mounting  glory  view  ; 

White,  whirling  clouds  his  steep  ascent  pursue. 

But  lo  !  a  glimpse  ; — refulgent  to  the  gale, 

He  starts  all  naked  through  his  riven  veil ; 

A  fountain-column,  terrible  and  bright, 

A  living,  breathing,  moving  form  of  light ; 

From  central  earth  to  heaven's  meridian  thrown, 

The  mighty  apparition  towers  alone, 

Rising,  as  though  for  ever  he  could  rise, 

Storm  and  resume  his  palace  in  the  skies. 

All  foam,  and  turbulence,  and  wrath  below ; 

Around  him  beams  the  reconciling  bow ; 

(Signal  of  peace,  whose  radiant  girdle  binds, 

Till  nature's  doom,  the  waters  and  the  winds ;) 

While  mist  and  spray,  condensed  to  sudden  dews, 

The  air  illumine  with  celestial  hues, 

As  if  the  bounteous  sun  were  raining  down 

The  richest  gems  of  his  imperial  crown. 

In  vain  the  spirit  wrestles  to  break  free, 

Foot-bound  to  fathomless  captivity  ; 

A  power  unseen,  by  sympathetic  spell 

For  ever  working, — to  his  flinty  cell, 

Recalls  him  from  the  ramparts  of  the  spheres ; 

He  yields,  collapses,  lessens,  disappears  ; 

Darkness  receives  him  in  her  vague  abyss, 

Around  whose  verge  light  fi$th  and  bubbles  hiss, 

While  the  low  murmurs  of  the  refluent  tide 

Far  into  subterranean  silence  glide, 

The  eye  still  gazing  down  the  dread  profound, 

When  the  bent  ear  hath  wholly  lost  the  sound. 

— But  is  he  slain  or  sepulchred  ? — Again 

The  deathless  giant  sallies  from  his  den, 

Scales  with  recruited  strength  the  ethereal  walls, 

Struggles  afresh  for  liberty — and  falls. 


GREENLAND. 


Yes,  and  for  liberty  the  fight  renew'd, 
By  day,  by  night,  undaunted,  unsubdued, 
Tie  shall  maintain,  till  Iceland's  solid  base 
Fail,  and  the  mountains  vanish  from  its  face. 

And  can  these  fail  ? — Of  Alpine  height  and  mould 
Schapta's  unshaken  battlements  behold  ; 
His  throne  an  hundred  hills ;  his  sun-crown'd  head 
Resting  on  clouds  ;  his  robe  of  shadow  spread 
O'er  half  the  isle  ;  he  pours  from  either  hand 
An  unexhausted  river  through  the  land, 
On  whose  fair  banks,  through  valleys  warm  and  green 
Cattle  and  flocks,  and  homes,  and  spires  are  seen. 
Here  Nature's  earthquake  pangs  were  never  felt ; 
Here  in  repose  hath  man  for  ages  dwelt ; 
The  everlasting  mountain  seems  to  say, 
"  I  am, — and  I  shall  never  pass  away." 

Yet  fifty  winters,  and  with  huge  uproar, 
Thy  pride  shall  perish ; — thou  shall  be  no  more  ; 
Amidst  chaotic  ruins  on  the  plain, 
Those  cliffs,  these  waters  shall  be  sought  in  vain ! 
— Through  the  dim  vista  of  unfolding  years, 
A  pageant  of  portentous  wo  appears. 
Yon  rosy  groups,  with  golden  locks  at  play, 
I  see  them, — few,  decrepit,  silent,  gray  ; 
Their  fathers  all  at  rest  beneath  the  sod, 
Whose  fiowerless  verdure  marks  the  House  of  God 
Home  of  the  living  and  the  dead  ; — where  meet 
Kindred  and  strangers,  in  communion  sweet, 
When  dawns  the  Sabbath  on  the  block-built  pile ; 
The  kiss  of  peace,  the  welcome,  and  the  smile 
Go  round ;  till  comes  the  Priest,  a  father  there, 
And  the  bell  knolls  his  family  to  prayer; 
Angels  might  stoop  from  thrones  in  heaven,  to  be 
Co-worshippers  in  such  a  family, 
Whom  from  their  nooks  and  dells,  where'er  they  roam, 
The  Sabbath  gathers  to  their  common  home. 
Oh !  I  would  stand  a  keeper  at  this  gate 
Ra.her  than  reign  with  kings  in  guilty  state ; 


S20  GREENLAND. 


A  day  in  such  serene  enjoyment  spent 
Were  worth  an  age  of  splendid  discontent ! 
— But  whither  am  I  hurried  from  my  theme  ? 
Schapta  returns  on  the  prophetic  dream. 

From  eve  till  morn  strange  meteors  streak  the  pole ; 
At  cloudless  noon  mysterious  thunders  roll, 
As  if  below  both  shore  and  ocean  hurl'd 
From  deep  convulsions  of  the  nether  world  ; 
Anon  the  river,  boiling  from  its  bed, 
Shall  leap  its  bounds  and  o'er  the  lowlands  spread, 
Then  waste  in  exhalation, — leaving  void 
As  its  own  channel,  utterly  destroy'd, 
Fields,  gardens,  dwellings,  churches,  and  their  graves, 
All  wreck'd  or  disappearing  with  the  waves, 
The  fugitives  that  'scape  this  instant  death 
Inhale  slow  pestilence  with  every  breath ; 
Mephitic  steams  from  Schapta's  mouldering  breast 
With  livid  horror  shall  the  air  infest : 
And  day  shall  glare  so  foully  on  the  sight, 
Darkness  were  refuge  from  the  curse  of  light. 
Lo  !  far  among  the  glaciers,  wrapt  in  gloom, 
The  red  precursors  of  approaching  doom, 
Scatter'd  and  solitary  founts  of  fire, 
Unlock'd  by  hands  invisible,  aspire  ; 
Ere  long  more  rapidly  than  eye  can  count, 
Above,  beneath,  they  multiply,  they  mount, 
Converge,  condense, — a  crimson  phalanx  form, 
And  range  aloft  in  one  unbounded  storm ; 
From  heaven's  red  roof  the  fierce  reflections  throw 
A  sea  of  fluctuating  light  below. 
— Now  the  whole  army  of  destroyers,  fleet 
As  whirlwinds,  terrible  as  lightnings,  meet ; 
The  mountains  melt  like  wax  along  their  course, 
When  downward,  pouring  with  resistless  force, 
Through  the  void  channel  where  the  river  roll'd, 
To  ocean's  verge  their  flaming  march  they  hold 
While  blocks  of  ice,  and  crags  of  granite  rent 
Half-fluid  ore,  and  rugged  minerals  blent, 


GREENLAND.  221 


Float  on  the  gulf,  till  molten  or  immersed, 
Or  in  explosive  thunderbolts  dispersed, 
Thus  shall  the  Schapta,  towering  on  the  brink 
Of  unknown  jeopardy,  in  ruin  sink  ; 
And  this  wild  paroxysm  of  frenzy  past, 
At  her  own  work  shall  Nature  stand  aghast. 
Look  on  this  desolation : — mark  yon  brow, 
Once  adamant,  a  cone  of  ashes  now : 
Here  rivers  swampt ;  there  valleys  levell'd,  plains 
O'erwhelm'd ; — one  black-red  wilderness  remains, 
One  crust  of  lava,  through  whose  cinder-heat 
The  pulse  of  buried  streams  is  felt  to  beat ; 
These  from  the  frequent  fissures,  eddying  white, 
Sublimed  to  vapour,  issue  forth  like  light 
Amidst  the  sulphury  fumes,  that,  drear  and  dun, 
Poison  the  atmosphere  and  blind  the  sun. 
Above,  as  if  the  sky  had  felt  the  stroke 
Of  that  volcano,  and  consumed  to  smoke, 
One  cloud  appears  in  heaven,  and  one  alone, 
Hung  round  the  dark  horizon's  craggy  zone, 
Forming  at  once  the  vast  encircling  wall, 
And  the  dense  roof  of  some  Tartarean  hall, 
Propt  by  a  thousand  pillars,  huge  and  strange, 
Fantastic  forms  that  every  moment  change, 
As  hissing,  surging  from  the  floor  beneath, 
Volumes  of  steam  th'  imprison'd  waters  breathe. 
Then  should  the  sun,  ere  evening  gloom  ascend, 
Quick  from  the  west  the  murky  curtain  rend, 
And  pour  the  beauty  of  his  beams  between 
These  hideous  arches,  and  light  up  the  scene  ; 
At  the  sweet  touch  of  his  transforming  rays 
With  amber  lustre  all  the  columns  blaze, 
And  the  thick  folds  of  cumbrous  fog  aloof 
Change  to  rich  drapery  of  celestial  woof: 
With  such  enchantment  air  and  earth  were  fraught, 
Beyond  the  colouring  of  the  wealthiest  thought 
That  Iceland  Scalds,  transported  at  the  view, 
Might  deem  the  legends  of  their  fathers  true, 

19' 


225  GREENLAND. 


And  here  behold,  illumining  the  waste, 

The  palace  of  immortal  Odin  placed  ; 

Till  rapt  imagination  joy'd  to  hear 

The  neigh  of  steeds,  the  clank  of  armour  near, 

And  saw,  in  barbarous  state,  the  tables  spread 

With  shadoAvy  food,  and  compass'd  with  the  dead, 

Weary  from  conflicts, — still  the  fierce  delight       / 

Of  spectre-warriors,  in  the  daily  fight : 

Then  while  they  quaff 'd  the  mead  from  skulls  of  foes, 

By  whirlwind  gusts  the  din  of  battle  rose ; 

The  strife  of  tongues,  the  tournament  of  words 

Following  the  shock  of  shields/the  clash  of  swords ; 

Till,  gorged  and  drunken  at  th'  enormous  feast, 

Awhile  their  revels  and  their  clamours  ceased  ; 

Ceased  to  the  eye  and  ear ; — yet  where  they  lay, 

Like  sleeping  lions,  surfeited  with  prey, 

In  tawny  groups,  recumbent  through  the  den, 

In  dreams  the  heroes  drank  and  fought  again. 

Away  with  such  Divinities  !  their  birth 
Man's  brain-sick  superstition,  and  their  mirth 
Lust,  rapine,  cruelty  ; — their  fell  employ 
God's  works  and  their  own  votaries  to  destroy. 
— The  Runic  Bard  to  nobler  themes  shall  string 
His  ancient  harp,  and  mightier  triumphs  sing  : 
For  glorious  days  are  risen  on  Iceland  : — clear 
The  gospel-trumpet  sounds  to  every  ear, 
And  deep  in  many  a  heart  the  Spirit's  voice 
Bids  the  believing  soul  in  hope  rejoice. 
O'er  the  stern  face  of  this  tempestuous  isle, 
Though  briefly  Spring,  and  Autumn  never,  smile, 
Truth  -walks  with  naked  foot  th'  unyielding  snows, 
And  the  glad  desert  blossoms  like  the  rose. 
Though  earthquakes  heave,  though  torrents  drown  his  cot. 
Volcanoes  waste  his  fields, — the  peasant's  lot 
Is  blest  beyond  the  destiny  of  kings  : 
— Lifting  his  eyes  above  sublunar  things, 
Like  dying  Stephen,  when  he  saw  in  prayer 
Heaven  open'd,  and  his  Saviour  beckoning  there. 


GREENLAND.  «3 


He  cries,  and  clasps  his  Bible  to  his  breast 
"  Let  the  earth  perish, — here  is  not  my  rest." 


CANTO  THIRD. 

The  Vnijagt  to  Greenland  concluded— Jl  F<>g  at  Sea— fee  fields— Eclipse  of  tht 
Sun—The  Greenland  Fable  of  Malina  and  Aninga—A  Storm— The  Ice-blink- 
Jfurthern  Lights— The  Brethren  land. 

How  speed  the  faithful  witnesses,  who  bore 

The  Bible  and  its  hopes  to  Greenland's  shore  ? 

— Like  Noah's  ark,  alone  upon  the  wave 

(Of  one  lost  world  the  immeasurable  grave), 

Yonder  the  ship,  a  solitary  speck, 

Comes  bounding  from  the  horizon ;  while  on  deck 

Again  imagination  rests  her  wing, 

And  smooths  her  pinions,  while  the  Pilgrims  sing 

Their  vesper  oraisons. — The  Sun  retires, 

Not  as  he  wont,  with  clear  and  golden  fires ; 

Bewilder'd  in  a  labyrinth  of  haze, 

His  orb  redoubled,  with  discolour'd  rays, 

Struggles  and  vanishes  ; — along  the  deep, 

With  slow  array,  expanding  vapours  creep, 

Whose  folds,  in  twilight's  yellow  glare  uncurl'd, 

Present  the  dreams  of  an  unreal  world ; 

Islands  in  air  suspended  ;  marching  ghosts 

Of  armies,  shapes  of  castles,  winding  coasts, 

Navies  at  anchor,  mountains,  woods,  and  streams. 

Where  all  is  strange,  and  nothing  what  it  seems  ; 

Till  deep  involving  gloom,  without  a  spark 

Of  star,  moon,  meteor,  desolately  dark, 

Seals  up  the  vision : — then,  the  Pilot's  fears 

Slacken  his  arm  ;  a  doubtful  course  he  steers, 

Till  morning  comes,  but  comes  not  clad  in  light ; 

Uprisen  day  is  but  a  paler  night 

Revealing  not  a  glimpse  of  sea  or  skyv; 

The  ship's  circumference  bounds  the  sailor's  eye 


224  GREENLAND. 


So  cold  and  dense  the  impervious  fog  extends, 

He  might  have  touch'd  the  point  where  being  ends ; 

His  bark  is  all  the  universe  ;  so  void 

The  scene, — as  though  creation  were  destroy'd, 

And  he  and  his  few  mates,  of  all  their  race, 

Were  here  becalm'd  in  everlasting  space. 

Silent  and  motionless,  above,  below, 
The  sails  all  struck,  the  waves  unheard  to  flow, 
In  this  drear  blank  of  utter  solitude, 
Where  life  stands  still,  no  faithless  fears  intrude ; 
Through  that  impervious  veil  the  Brethren  see 
The  face  of  omnipresent  Deity : 
Nor  Him  alone ; — whate'er  his  hand  hath  made  ; 
His  glory  in  the  firmament  display 'd  ; 
The  sun  majestic  in  his  course,  and  sole  ; 
The  moon  and  stars  rejoicing  round  the  pole  ; 
Earth  o'er  its  peopled  realms  and  wastes  unknown. 
Clad  in  the  wealth  of  every  varying  zone ; 
Ocean  through  all  the  enchantment  of  his  forms, 
From  breathing  calms  to  devastating  storms  ; 
Heaven  in  the  vision  of  eternal  bliss, 
Death's  terrors,  hell's  unsearchable  abyss ; 
— Though  rapt  in  secrecy  from  human  eye, 
These  in  the  mind's  profound  sensorium  lie, 
And,  with  their  Maker,  by  a  glance  of  thought, 
Are  in  a  moment  to  remembrance  brought ; 
Then  most,  when  most  restrain'd,  th'  imperfect  sight, 
God  and  his  works  shine  forth  in  His  own  light. 
Yet  clearest  through  that  veil  the  Pilgrims  trace 
Their  Father's  image  in  their  Saviour's  face ; 
A  sigh  can  waft  them  to  his  feet  in  prayer, 
Not  Gabriel  bends  with  more  acceptance  there, 
Nor  to  the  throne  from  heaven's  pure  altar  rise 
The  odours  of  a  sweeter  sacrifice, 
Than  when  before  the  mercy-seat  they  kneel, 
And  tell  Him  all  they  fear,  or  hope,  or  feel ; 
Perils  without,  and  enemies  within, 
Satan,  the  world,  temptation,  weakness,  sinj 


GREENLAND. 


Yet  rest  unshaken  on  his  sure  defence, 

Invincible  through  his  omnipotence  : 

"Oh  !  step  by  step,"  they  cry,  "  direct  our  way, 

And  give  thy  grace,  like  manna,  day  by  day ; 

The  store  of  yesterday  will  not  suffice, 

To-morrow's  sun  to  us  may  never  rise  ; 

Safe  only  when  our  souls  are  stay'd  on  Thee  ; 

Rich  only  when  we  know  our  poverty." 

And  step  by  step  the  Lord  those  suppliants  led; 
He  gave  them  daily  grace  like  daily  bread ; 
By  sea,  on  shore,  through  all  their  pilgrimage, 
Tn  rest  and  labour,  to  their  latest  age, 
Sharp  though  their  trials,  and  their  comforts  scant, 
God  was  their  refuge,  and  they  knew  not  want. 

On  rustling  pinions,  like  an  unseen  bird, 
Among  the  yards  a  stirring  breeze  is  heard ; 
The  conscious  vessel  wakes  as  from  a  trance, 
Her  colours  float,  the  filling  sails  advance  ; 
White  from  her  prow  the  murmuring  surge  recedes: 
— So  the  swan,  startled  from  her  nest  of  reeds, 
Swells  into  beauty,  and  with  curving  chest, 
Cleaves  the  blue  lake,  with  motion  soft  as  rest. 
Light  o'er  the  liquid  lawn  the  pageant  glides ; 
Her  helm  the  well-experienced  pilot  guides, 
And  while  he  threads  the  mist-enveloped  maze, 
Turns  to  the  magnet  his  inquiring  gaze, 
In  whose  mute  oracle,  where'er  he  steers, 
The  pointing  hand  of  Providence  appears ; 
With  this,  though  months  of  gloom  the  main  enrobe, 
His  keel  might  plough  a  furrow  round  the  globe. 

Again  the  night  ascends  without  a  star : 
Low  sounds  come  booming  o'er  the  waves  afar, 
As  if  conflicting  navies  shook  the  flood, 
With  human  thunders  in  the  strife  of  blood, 
That  slay  more  victims  in  one  brief  campaign, 
Than  heaven's  own  bolt  through  centuries  have  slain. 
The  seaman  hearkens ; — colour  flies  his  cheek, 
His  stout  heart  throbs  with  fears  he  dares  not  speak ; 


t 

I' 


829  GREENLAND. 


No  lightning-splendours  streak  the  unbroken  gloom ; 
— His  bark  may  shoot  the  gulf  beyond  the  tomb, 
And  he,  if  e'er  it  come,  may  meet  a  light, 
Which  never  yet  hath  dawn'd  on  living  sight. 
Fresher  and  fresher  blows  the  insurgent  gale  ; 
He  reefs  his  tops,  he  narrows  sail  by  sail, 
Yet  feels  the  ship  with  swifter  impulse  sweep 
O'er  mightier  billows,  the  recoiling  deep ; 
While  still,  with  doleful  omen  on  his  ear, 
Come  the  deaf  echoes  of  those  sounds  of.  fear, 
Distant, — yet  every  volley  rolls  more  near. 

Oh  !  in  that  agony  of  thought  forlorn, 

How  longs  th'  impatient  mariner  for  morn ! 

She  wakes, — his  eyes  are  wither'd  to  behold 

The  scene  which  her  disastrous  beams  unfold : 

The  fog  is  vanish'd,  but  the  welkin  lowers, 

Sharp  hail  descends,  and  sleet  in  blinding  showers ; 

Ocean  one  bed  of  foam,  with  fury  tost, 

In  undistinguishable  whiteness  lost, 

Save  where  vast  fields  of  ice  their  surface  show, 

Buoyant,  but  many  a  fathom  sunk  below : 

Changing  his  station  as  the  fragments  pass, 

Death  stands  the  pilot  of  each  ponderous  mass ; 

Gathering  his  brow  into  the  darkest  frown, 

He  bolts  his  raft  to  run  the  victim  down, 

But  shoots  astern : — the  shock  the  vessel  feels, 

A  moment  in  the  giddy  whirlpool  reels, 

Then  like  an  arrow  soars,  as  through  the  air, 

So  high  the  salient  waves  their  burden  bear. 

Quick  skirmishes  with  floating  batteries  past,     » 
Ruin  inevitable  threats  at  last : 
Athwart  the  north,  like  ships  of  battle  spread, 
Winter's  flotilla,  by  their  captain  led, 
(Who  boasts  with  these  to  make  his  prowess  known, 
And  plant  his  foot  beyond  the  arctic  zone,) 
Islands  of  ice,  so  wedged  and  grappled  lie, 
One  moving  continent  appals  the  eye, 


GREENLAND.  227 


And  to  the  ear  renews  those  notes  of  doom, 

That  brought  portentous  warnings  through  the  gloom; 

For  loud  and  louder,  with  explosive  shocks, 

Sudden  convulsions  split  the  frost-bound  rocks, 

And  launch  loose  mountains  on  the  frothing  ooze, 

As  pirate-barks,  on  summer  seas  to  cruize. 

In  front  this  perilous  array  ; — behind, 

Borne  on  the  surges,  driven  by  the  wind, 

The  vessel  hurries  to  the  brink  of  fate ; 

All  efforts  fail, — but  prayer  is  not  too  late : 

Then,  in  the  imminent  and  ghastly  fall 

Foul  on  destruction, — the  disciples  call 

On  Him,  their  Master,  who,  in  human  form, 

Slept  in  the  lap  of  the  devouring  storm ; 

On  Him,  Avho  in  the  midnight  watch  was  seen, 

Walking  the  gulf,  ineffably  serene, 

At  whose  rebuke  the  tempest  ceased  to  roar, 

The  winds  caress'd  the  waves,  the  waves  the  shore. 

On  Him  they  call ; — their  prayer,  in  faith  preferr'd, 

Amidst  the  frantic  hurricane  is  heard ; 

He  gives  the  sign,  by  none  in  earth  or  heaven 

Known,  but  by  him  to  whom  the  charge  is  given, 

The  Angel  of  the  Waters ; — he,  whose  wrath 

Had  hurl'd  the  vessel  on  that  shipwreck  path, 

Becomes  a  minister  of  grace  ; — his  breath 

Blows, — and  the  enemies  are  scatter'd, — Death, 

Reft  of  his  quarry,  plunges  through  the  wave, 

Buried  himself  where  he  had  mark'd  their  grave. 

The  line  of  battle  broken,  and  the  chain 

Of  that  armada,  which  oppress'd  the  main, 

Snapt  hqpelessly  asunder,  quickly  all 

The  enormous  masses  in  disruption  fall, 

And  the  weak  vessel,  through  the  chaos  wild 

Led  by  the  mighty  Angel, — as  a  child, 

Snatch'd  from  its  crib,  and  in  the  mother's  arms 

Borne  through  a  midnight  tumult  of  alarms, — 

Escapes  the  wrecks ;  nor  slackens  her  career, 

Till  sink  the  forms,  and  cease  the  sounds  of  fear 


228  GREENLAND. 


And  He,  who  rules  the  universe  at  will, 
Saith  to  the  reinless  elements,  "  Be  still." 

Then  rise  sweet  hymns  of  gratuiation ;  praise 
From  hearts  and  voices,  in  harmonious  lays  ; — 
So  Israel  s^ng  deliverance,  when  he  stood 
By  the  Red  Sea,  and  saw  the  morning-flood, 
That  in  its  terrible  embraces  bore 
The  slain  pursuers  and  their  spoils  on  shore. 

Light-breathing  gales  awhile  their  course  propel, 
The  billows  roll  Avith  pleasurable  swell,  . 
Till  the  seventh  dawn ;  when  o'er  the  pure  expanse 
The  sun,  like  lightning,  throws  his  earliest  glance, 
"  Land  !  Land  !"  exclaims  the  ship-boy  from  the  mast, 
"  Land  !  Land  !"  with  one  electric  shock  hath  pass'd 
From  lip  to  lip,  and  every  eye  hath  caught 
The  cheering  glimpse  so  long,  so  dearly  sought ; 
Yet  must  imagination  half  supply  , 

The  doubtful  streak,  dividing  sea  and  sky ; 
Not  clearly  known,  till  in  sublimer  day, 
From  icy  clifls  refracted  splendours  play, 
And  clouds  of  sea-fowl  high  in  ether  sweep, 
Or  fall  like  stars  through  sunshine  on  the  deep. 
'Tis  Greenland  !  but  so  desolately  bare, 
Amphibious  life  alone  inhabits  there  ; 
'Tis  Greenland !  yet  so  beautiful  the  sight, 
The  Brethren  gaze  with  undisturb'd  delight : 
In  silence  (as  before  the  throne),  they  stand, 
And  pray,  in  prospect  of  that  promised  land, 
That  He,  who  sends  them  thither  may  abide 
Through  the  waste  howling  wilderness  their  guide ; 
And  the  good  shepherd  seek  his  straying  flocks,   . 
Lost  on  those  frozen  waves  and  herbless  rocks, 
By  the  still  waters  of  his  comforts  lead, 
And  in  the  pastures  of  salvation  feed. 

Their  faith  must  yet  be  tried : — the  sun  at  noon 
Shrinks  from  the  shadow  of  the  passing  moon, 
Till,  ray  by  ray,  of  all  his  pomp  bereft 
(Save  one  slight  ring  of  quivering  lustre  left), 


GREENLAND. 


239 


Total  eclipse  involves  his  peerless  eye : 

Portentous  twilight  creeps  around  the  sky ; 

The  frighted  sea-birds  to  their  haunts  repair ; 

There  is  a  freezing  stillness  in  the  air, 

As  if  the  blood  through  Nature's  veins  ran  cold, 

A  prodigy  so  fearful  to  behold  ; 

A  few  faint  stars  gleam  through  the  dread  serene, 

Trembling  and  pale  spectators  of  the  scene  ; 

While  the  rude  mariners,  with  stern  amaze, 

As  on  some  tragic  execution  gaze, 

When  calm  but  awful  guilt  is  stretcht  to  feel 

The  torturing  fire,  or  dislocating  wheel, 

And  life,  like  light  from  yonder  orb,  retires, 

Spark  after  spark,  till  the  whole  man  expires. 

Yet  may  the  darken'd  sun  and  mourning  skies 

Point  to  a  higher,  holier  sacrifice  ; 

The  Brethren's  thoughts  to  Calvary's  brow  ascend, 

Round  the  Redeemer's  Cross  their  spirits  bend, 

And  while  heaven  frowns,  earth  shudders,  graves  disclose 

The  forms  of  sleepers,  startled  from  repose, 

They  catch  the  blessing  of  his  latest  breath, 

Mark  his  last  look,  and  through  th'  eclipse  of  death 

See  lovelier  beams  than  Tabor's  vision  shed, 

Wreathe  a  meek  halo  round  his  sacred  head. 

To  Greenland  then,  with  quick  compassion,  turn 

Their  deepest  sympathies  ;  their  bosoms  burn, 

To  her  barbarian  race,  with  tongues  of  flame, 

His  love,  his  grief,  his  glory  to  proclaim. 

Oh  could  they  view,  in  this  alarming  hour, 
Those  wretched  ones,  themselves  beneath  the  power 
Of  darkness,  while  the  shadow  clips  the  sun  ! 
How  to  their  dens  the  fierce  sea-hunters  run, 
Who  d(ath  in  every  shape  of  peril  brave, 
By  storms  and  monsters,  on  the  faithless  wave, 
But  now  in  speechless  horror  lie  aghast, 
Till  the  malignant  prodigy  be  past : 
While  bolder  females,  with  tormenting  spells, 
Consult  their  household  dogs  as  oracles, 

roL.  i.  20 


«0  GREENLAND. 


And  by  the  yelping  of  their  curs  divine 

That  still  the  earth  may  stand,  the  sun  may  shine. 

Then  forth  they  creep,  and  to  their  offspring  tell 

What  fate  of  old  a  youth  and  maid  befell : 

How,  in  the  age  of  night,  ere  day  was  born 

On  the  blue  hills  of  undiscover'd  morn  ; 

Where  one  pale  cresset  twinkled  through  the  shade, 

MALINA  and  her  gay  companions  play'd 

A  thousand  mimic  sports,  as  children  wont ; 

They  hide,  they  seek,  they  shoot,  harpoon  and  hunt ; 

When  lo  !  ANINGA,  passionate  and  young, 

Keen  as  a  wolf,  upon  his  sister  sprung, 

And  pounced  his  victim ; — gentler  way  to  woo 

He  knew  not,  or  he  scorn'd  it  if  he  knew : 

MALINA  snatch'd  her  lamp,  and  in  the  dark 

Dash'd  on  his  felon-front  a  hideous  mark, 

Slipt  from  his  foul  embrace  (and  laugh'd  aloud), 

Soft  as  the  rainbow  melting  from  the  cloud ; 

Then  shot  to  heaven,  and  in  her  wondrous  flight 

Transform'd  her  image,  sparkled  into  light, 

Became  the  sun,  and  through  the  firmament, 

Forth  in  the  glory  of  a  goddess  went. 

ANINGA  baffled,  madden'd,  unsubdued, 

By  her  own  beams  the  fugitive  pursued, 

And  when  she  set,  his  broad,  disfigur'd  mien 

As  the  dim  moon  among  the  stars  was  seen ; 

Thenceforward  doom'd  his  sister's  steps  to  chase, 

But  ne'er  o'ertake  in  heaven's  eternal  race. 

Yet  when  his  vanish'd  orb  might  seem  to  sleep, 

He  takes  his  monthly  pastime  on  the  deep, 

Through  storms,  o'er  cataracts,  in  his  Kayak  sails, 

Strikes  with  unerring  dart  the  polar  whales, 

Or  o'er  ice-mountains,  in  his  dog-drawn  car, 

Pursues  the  rein-deer  to  the  farthest  star. 

But  when  eclipse  his  baleful  disk  invades* 

He  prowls  for  prey  among  the  Greenland  maids, 

Till  roaring  drums,  belabouring  sticks,  and  cries 

Repel  the  errant  Demon  to  the  skies. 


GREENLAND. 


tti 


The  sun  hath  cast  aside  his  veil ; — he  shines 
With  purest  splendour  till  his  orb  declines  ; 
Then  landward,  marshalling  in  black  array, 
Eruptive  vapours  drive  him  from  the  day ; 
And  night  again,  with  premature  control, 
Binds  light  in  chains  of  darkness  o'er  the  pole  ; 
Heaven  in  one  ebon  mass  of  horror  scowls : 
— Anon  a  universal  whirlwind  howls, 
With  such  precipitation  dash'd  on  high, 
Not  from  one  point,  but  from  the  whole  dark  sky, 
The  surges  at  the  onset  shrink  aghast, 
Borne  down  beneath  the  paralyzing  blast ; 
But  soon  the  mad  tornado  slants  its  course, 
And  rolls  them  into  mountains  by  main  force, 
Then  utterly  embroil'd,  through  clouds  and  waves. 
As  'twixt  two  oceans  met  in  conflict,  raves. 
Now  to  the  passive  bark,  alternate  tost, 
Above,  below,  both  sea  and  sky  are  lost, 
All  but  the  giddy  summit,  where  her  keel 
Hangs  in  light  balance  on  the  billowy  wheel ; 
Then,  as  the  swallow  in  his  windward  flight, 
Quivers  the  wing,  returns,  and  darts  downright, 
She  plunges  through  the  blind  abyss,  and  o'er 
Her  groaning  masts  the  cavern'd  waters  roar. 
Ruled  by  the  hurricane,  no  more  the  helm 
Obeys  the  pilot; — seas  on  seas  o'erwhelm 
The  deck ;  where  oft  embattled  currents  meet, 
Foam  in  white  whirlpools,  flash  to  spray,  retreat, 
And  rack  the  vessel  with  their  huge  turmoils, 
Like  the  cork  float  around  the  fisher's  toils. 
Three  days  of  restless  agony,  that  seem 
Of  one  delirious  night  the  waking  dream, 
The  mariners  in  vain  their  labours  ply, 
Or  sick  at  heart  in  pale  despondence  lie. 
The  Brethren  weak,  yet  firm  as  when  they  faced 
Winter's  ice-legions  on  his  own  bleak  waste, 
In  patient  hope,  that  utters  no  complaint, 
Pray  without  ceasing ;  pray,  and  never  faint ; 


GREENLAND. 


Assured  that  He,  who  from  the  tempest's  neck 
Hath  loosed  his  grasp,  still  holds  it  at  his  beck, 
And  with  a  pulse  too  deep  for  mortal  sense, 
The  secret  pulse  of  his  omnipotence, 
That  beats  through  every  motion  of  the  storm, 
— Can  check  destruction  in  its  wildest  form : 
Bow'd  to  his  will, — their  lot  how  truly  blest, 
Who  live  to  serve  Him,  and  who  die  to  rest ! 

To  live  and  serve  Him  is  their  Lord's  decree ; 
He  curbs  the  wind,  He  calms  th'  infuriate  sea ; 
The  sea  and  wind  their  Maker's  yoke  obey, 
And  waft  his  servants  on  their  destined  way. 
Though  many  a  league  by  that  disaster  driven 
'Thwart  from  their  course  ;  with  planks  arid  cordage  riven, 
With  hands  disabled,  and  exhausted  strength, 
The  active  crew  refit  their  bark  at  length ; 
Along  the  placid  gulf,  with  heaving  sails, 
That  catch  from  every  point  propitious  gales, 
Led  like  the  moon,  from  infancy  to  age, 
Round  the  wide  zodiac  of  her  pilgrimage, 
Onward  and  smooth  their  voyage  they  pursue 
Till  Greenland's  coast  again  salutes  their  view. 

'Tis  sunset :  to  the  firmament  serene, 
Th'  Atlantic  wave  reflects  a  gorgeous  scene , 
Broad  in  the  cloudless  west  a  belt  of  gold 
Girds  the  blue  hemisphere  ;  above  unroll'd 
The  keen,  clear  air  grows  palpable  to  sight, 
Imbodied  in  a  flush  of  crimson  light, 
Through  which  the  evening  star,  with  milder  gleam, 
Descends,  to  meet  her  image  in  the  stream. 
Far  in  the  east,  Avhat  spectacle  unknown 
Allures  the  eye  to  gaze  on  it  alone  ? 
— Amidst  black  rocks,  that  lift  on  either  hand 
Their  countless  peaks,  and  mark  receding  land ; 
Amidst  a  tortuous  labyrinth  of  seas, 
That  shine  around  the  arctic  Cyclades  ; 
Amidst  a  coast  of  dreariest  continent, 
In  many  a  shapeless  promontory  rent : 


GREENLAND.  233 


— O'er  rocks,  seas,  islands,  promontories  spread, 

The  Ice-Blink  roars  its  undulated  head, 

On  which  the  sun," beyond  th'  horizon  shrined, 

Hath  left  his  richest  garniture  behind ; 

Piled  on  a  hundred  arches,  ridge  by  ridge, 

O'er  fix'd  and  fluid  strides  the  Alpine  bridge, 

Whose  blocks  of  sapphire  seem  to  mortal  eye 

Hewn  from  cerulean  quarries  of  the  sky  ; 

With  glacier-battlements,  that  crowd  the  spheres, 

The  slow  creation  of  six  thousand  years, 

Amidst  immensity  it  towers  sublime, 

— Winter's  eternal  palace,  built  by  Time : 

All  human  structures  by  his  touch  are  borne 

Down  to  the  dust ; — mountains  themselves  are  worn 

With  his  light  footsteps  ;  here  for  ever  grows. 

Amid  the  region  of  unmelting  snows, 

A  monument ;  where  every  flake  that  falls 

Gives  adamantine  firmness  to  the  walls. 

The  sun  beholds  no  mirror,  in  his  race, 

That  shows  a  brighter  image  of  his  face ; 

The  stars,  in  their  nocturnal  vigils,  rest 

Like  signal  fires  on  its  illumined  crest ; 

The  gliding  moon  around  the  ramparts  wheels, 

And  all  its  magic  lights  and  shades  reveals ; 

Beneath,  the  tide  with  idle  fury  raves 

To  undermine  it  through  a  thousand  caves ; 

Rent  from  its  roof,  though  thundering  fragments  oft 

Plunge  to  the  gulf;  immovable  aloft, 

From  age  to  age,  in  air,  o'er  sea,  on  land, 

Its  turrets  heighten  and  its  piers  expand. 

Midnight  hath  told  his  hour;  the  moon  yet  young, 
Hangs  in  the  argent  west  her  bow  unstrung ; 
Larger  and  fairer,  as  her  ustre  fades. 
Sparkle  the  stars  amidst  the  deepening  shades  ; 
Jewels  more  rich  than  night's  regalia  gem 
The  distant  Ice-Blink's  spangled  diadem  ; 
j_iike  a  new  mom  from  orient  darkness,  there 
Phosphoric  splendours  kindle  in  mid  air, 

20* 


334 


GREENLAND. 


As  though  from  heaven's  self-opening  portals  came 

Legions  of  spirits  in  an  orb  of  flame, 

— Flame,  that  from  every  point  an  arrow  sends, 

Far  as  the  concave  firmament  extends : 

Spun  with  the  tissue  of  a  million  lines, 

Glistening  like  gossamer  the  welkin  shines : 

The  constellations  in  their  pride  look  pale 

Through  the  quick  trembling  brilliance  of  that  veil ; 

Then  suddenly  converged,  the  meteors  rush 

O'er  the  wide  south ;  one»deep  vermilion  blush 

O'erspreads  Orion  glaring  on  the  flood, 

And  rabid  Sirius  foams  through  fire  and  blood ; 

Again  the  circuit  of  the  pole  they  range, 

Motion  and  figure  every  moment  change, 

Through  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow  run, 

Or  blaze  like  wrecks  of  a  dissolving  sun  ; 

Wide  ether  burns  with  glory,  conflict,  flight, 

And  the  glad  ocean  dances  in  the  light. 

The  seaman's  jealous  eye  askance  surveys 
This  pageantry  of  evanescent  rays, 
While  in  the  horror  of  misgiving  fear 
New  storms  already  thunder  on  his  ear : 
But  morning  comes,  and  brings  him  sweet  release ; 
Day  shines  and  sets ;  at  evening  all  is  peace  ; 
Another  and  another  day  is  past ; 
The  fourth  appears, — the  loveliest  and  the  last ; 
The  sails  are  furl'd  ;  the  anchor  drags  the  sand ; 
The  boat  hath  cross'd  the  creek ; — the  Brethren  land. 


GREENLAND.  235 


.    CANTO  FOURTH. 

Retroipect  of  nnrirnt  Greenland— The  Discovery  «/  Ireland,  of  Greenland,  of 
IVinrland—  The  JVuru-efriaii  Culunie*  un  the  Vaster*  and  H'txtrrn  Coasts  of 
Greenland— The  Jlnptarance  if  l/ir  Skr,ir.lliii?s,  »r  wmltrn  Grentlanders,  in  tkt 
West,  and  the  Destruction  ifthe  Jfuriccffian  Settlers  in  that  Quarter. 

HERE  while  in  peace  the  weary  Pilgrim?  rest, 

Turn  we  our  voyage  from  the  new-found  west, 

Sail  up  the  current  of  departed  time, 

And  seek  along  its  banks  that  vanish'd  clime, 

By  ancient  scalds  in  Runic  verse  renown'd, 

Now  like  old  Babylon  no  longer  found. 

— "  Oft  was  I  weary  when  I  toil'd  at  thee  ;" 

This,  on  an  oarabandon'd  to  the  sea, 

Some  hand  had  graven : — from  what  founder'd  boat 

It  fell ; — how  long  on  ocean's  waves  afloat ; 

— Who  mark'd  it  with  that  melancholy  line  ; 

No  record  tells  : — Greenland  !  such  fate  was  thine ; 

Whate'er  thou  wast,  of  thee  remains  no  more 

Than  a  brief  legend  on  a  foundling  oar ; 

And  he,  whose  song  would  now  revive  thy  fame, 

Grasps  but  the  shadow  of  a  mighty  name. 

From  Asia's  fertile  womb,  when  Time  was  young, 
And  earth  a  wreck,  the  sires  of  nations  sprung ; 
In  Shinar's  land  of  rivers,  Babel's  tower 
Stood  the  lorn  relic  of  their  scatter'd  power; 
A  broken  pillar,  snapt  as  from  the  spheres, 
Slow-wasting  through  the  silent  lapse  of  years, 
While  o'er  the  regions,  by  the  flood  destroy'd, 
The  builders  breathed  new  life  throughout  the  void, 
Soul,  passion,  intellect ;  till  blood  of  man 
Through  every  artery  of  Nature  ran ; 
O'er  eastern  islands  pour'd  its  quickening  stream, 
Caught  the  warm  crimson  of  the  western  beam, 
Beneath  the  burning  line  made  fountains  start 
In  the  dry  wilderness  of  Afric's  heart, 
And  through  the  torpid  north,  with  genial  heat, 
Taught  love's  exhilarating  pulse  to  beat ; 


r 


236  GREENLAND. 


Till  the  great  sun,  in  his  perennial  round, 
Man,  of  all  climes  the  restless  native,  found, 
Pursuing  folly  in  his  vain  career, 
As  if  existence  were  immortal  here  ; 
While  on  the  fathers'  graves  the  sons,  untaught 
By  their  mischance,  the  same  illusions  sought, 
By  gleams  and  shadows  measured  wo  and  bliss, 
As  though  unborn  for  any  world  but  this. 

Five  thousand  years,  unvisited,  unknown, 
Greenland  lay  slumbering  in  the  frozen  zone,— 
While  heaven's  resplendent  host  pursued  their  way 
To  light  the  wolf  and  eagle  to  their  prey, 
And  tempests  o'er  the  main  their  terrors  spread 
To  rock  Leviathan  upon  his  bed  ; — 
Ere  Ingolf  his  undaunted  flag  unfurl'd 
To  search  the  secrets  of  the  polar  world. 
'Twas  liberty,  that  fires  the  coldest  veins, 
And  exile,  famine,  death,  prefers  to  chains ; 
'Twas  liberty,  through  floods  unplough'd  before, 
That  led  his  gallant  crew  from  Norway's  shore ; 
They  cut  their  cable,  and  in  thunder  broke 
With  their  departing  oars  the  tyrant's  yoke  ; 
The  deep  their  country,  and  their  bark  their  home, 
A  floating  isle,  on  which  they  joy'd  to  roam 
Amidst  immensity :  with  waves  and  wind, 
Now  sporting  and  now  wrestling ; — unconfined, 
Save  by  the  blue  surrounding  firmament, 
Full,  yet  for  ever  widening  as  they  went : 
Thus  sail'd  those  mariners,  unheeding  where 
They  found  a  port,  if  Freedom  anchor'd  there. 

By  stars  that  never  set,  their  course  they  steer'd, 
And  northward  with  indignant  impulse  veer'd, 
For  sloth  had  lull'd  and  luxury  o'errun, 
And  bondage  seized,  the  realms  that  loved  the  sun. 
At  length  by  mountain-ice,  with  perils  strange, 
Menaced,  repell'd,  and  forced  their  track  to  change 
They  bade  the  unirriprison'd  raven  fly, 
A  living  compass  through  the  chartless  sky ; 


GREENLAND.  V 


Up  to  the  zenith,  swift  as  fire,  he  soar'd, 
Through  the  clear  boundless  atmosphere  explored 
The  dim  horizon  stretcht  beneath  his  sight ; 
'Then  to  the  west  full-onward  shot  his  flight: 
Thither  they  follow ;  till  from  Thule's  rocks, 
Around  the  bird  of  tempests  rose  the  flocks 
Of  screaming  sea-fowl,  widening  ring  o'er  ring, 
Till  heaven  grew  dark ;  then  wheeling  on  the  wing 
Landward  they  whiten  ail  the  rocks  below, 
Or  diving  melt  into  the  gulf  like  snow. 
Pleased  with  the  proud  discovery,  Ingolf  gave 
His  lintel  and  his  doorposts  to  the  wave, 
Divining,  as  they  drifted  to  the  strand, 
The  will  of  destiny, — the  place  to  land. 
There  on  a  homeless  soil  his  foot  he  placed, 
Framed  his  hut-palace,  colonized  the  waste, 
And  ruled  his  horde  with  patriarchal  sway : 
— Where  justice  reigns,  'tis  freedom  to  obey : 
And  there  his  race,  in  long  succession  blest. 
(Like  generations  in  the  eagle's  nest, 
Upon  their  own  hereditary  rock,) 
Flourish'd,  invincible  to  every  shock 
Of  time,  chance,  foreign  force,  or  civil  rage, — 
A  noble  dynasty  from  age  to  age ; 
And  Iceland  shone  for  generous  lore  renown'd, 
A  northern  light,  when  all  was  gloom  around. 
Ere  long,  by  brave  adventurers  on  the  tide, 
A  new  Hesperian  region  was  descried, 
Which  fancy  deem'd,  or  fable  feign'd,  so  fair, 
Fleets  from  old  Norway  pour'd  their  settlers  there, 
Who  traced  and  peopled  far  that  double  shore, 
Round  whose  repelling  rocks  two  oceans  roar. 
Till  at  the  southern  promontory,  tost 
By  tempests,  each  is  in  its  rival  lost. 
Thus  Greenland  (so  that  arctic  world  they  named) 
Was  planted,  and  to  utmost  Calpe  famed 
For  wealth  exhaustless,  which  her  seas  could  boast, 
And  prodigies  of  Nature  on  her  coast ; 


GREENLAND. 


Where,  in  the  green  recess  of  every  glen, 

The  House  of  Prayer  o'ertopt  th'  abodes  of  men, 

And  flocks  and  cattle  grazed  by  summer-streams, 

That  track'd  the  valleys  with  meandering  gleams : 

While  on  the  mountains  ice  eternal  frown'd, 

And  growing  glaciers  deepen'd  tow'rds  the  ground 

Year  after  year,  as  centuries  roll'd  away, 

Nor  lost  one  moment  till  that  judgment-day 

When  eastern  Greenland  from  the  world  was  rent 

Ingulf'd,— or  fix'd  one  frozen  continent. 

'Twere  long  and  dreary  to  recount  in  rhyme 
The  crude  traditions  of  that  long-lost  clime  : 
To  sing  of  wars,  by  barbarous  chieftains  waged, 
In  which  as  fierce  and  noble  passions  raged, 
Heroes  as  subtle,  bold,  remorseless,  fought, 
And  deeds  as  dark  and  terrible  were  wrought, 
As  round  Troy-walls  became  the  splendid  themes 
Of  Homer's  song,  and  Jove's  Olympian  dreams ; 
When  giant-prowess,  in  the  iron  field, 
With  single  arm  made  phalanx'd  legions  yield  ; 
When  battle  was  but  massacre, — the  strife 
Of  murderers, — steel  to  steel,  and  life  to  life. 
— Who  follows  Homer  takes  the  field  too  late  ; 
Though  stout  as  Hector,  sure  of  Hector's  fate, 
A  wound  as  from  Achilles'  spear  he  feels, 
Falls,  and  adorns  the  Grecian's  chariot-wheels. 

•Nor  stay  we  monkish  legends  to  rehearse  ; 
To  build  their  cloister-walls  in  Gothic  verse  ; 
Of  groves  and  gardens,  wine  and  music  tell ; 
Fresh  roses  breathing  round  the  hermit's  cell, 
And  baths,  in  which  Diana's  nymphs  might  lave, 
— From  earth's  self-opening  veins  the  blood-warm  wave, 
Whose  genial  streams,  amidst  departed  ice, 
Made  laps  of  verdure, — like  those  isles  of  spice 
In  eastern  seas  ;  or  rich  oases,  graced 
With  flowers  and  fountains,  in  the  Lybian  waste. 

Rather  the  muse  would  stretch  a  mightier  wing, 
Of  a  new  world  the  earliest  dawn  to  sing ; 


GREENLAND. 


How, — long  ere  Science,  in  a  dream  of  thought, 

Earth's  younger  daughter  to  Columhus  brought, 

And  sent  him,  like  the  Faerie  Prince,  in  quest 

Of  that  "bright  vestal  throned  in  the  west,"* 

— Greenland's  bold  sons,  by  instinct,  sallied  forth 

On  barks,  like  icebergs,  drifting  from  the  north, 

Cross' d  without  magnet  undiscover'd  seas, 

And,  all  surrendering  to  the  stream  and  breeze, 

Touch'd  on  the  line  of  that  twin-bodied  land, 

That  stretches  forth  to  either  pole  a  hand, 

From  arctic  wilds  that  see  no  winter-sun,  , 

To  where  the  oceans  of  the  world  are  one, 

And  round  Magellan's  straits,  Fuego's  shore, 

Atlantic,  Indian,  and  Pacific  roar. 

Regions  of  beauty  there  these  rovers  found, 
The  flowery  hills  with  emerald  woods  were  crown'd ; 
Spread  o'er  the  vast  savannahs,  buffalo  herds 
Ranged  without  master;  and  the  bright-wing'd  birds 
Made  gay  tha  sunshine  as  they  glanced  along, 
Or  turn'd  the  air  to  music  with  their  song. 

Here  from  his  mates  a  German  youth  had  stray'd, 
Where  the  broad  river  cleft  the  forest  glade ; 
Swarming  with  alligator-shoals,  the  flood 
Blazed  in  the  sun,  or  moved  in  clouds  of  blood ; 
The  wild  boar  rustled  headlong  through  the  brake ; 
Like  a  live  arrow  leap'd  the  rattle-snake ; 
The  uncouth  shadow  of  the  climbing  bear 
Crawl'd  on  the  grass,  while  he  aspired  in  air; 
Anon  with  hoofs,  like  hail,  the  greenwood  rang, 
Among  the  scattering  deer  a  panther  sprang: 
The  stripling  fear'd  not, — yet  he  trod  with  awe, 
As  if  enchantment  breathed  o'er  all  he  saw, 
/Till  in  his  path  uprose  a  wilding  vine ; 
— Then  o'er  his  memory  rush'd  the  noble  Rhine ; 
Home  and  its  joys,  with  fulness  of  delight, 
So  rapt  his  spirit,  so  beguiled  his  sight, 
That,  in  those  glens  of  savage  solitude, 
V  ineyards  and  corn-fields,  towns  and  spires  he  view'd, 


240  GREENLAND. 


And  through  the  image-chamber  of  his  soul 

The  days  of  other  years  like  shadows  stole ; 

All  that  he  once  had  been,  again  he  grew, 

Through  every  stage  of  life  he  pass'd  anew; 

The  playmates  of  his  infancy  were  there, 

With  dimpled  cheeks,  blue  eyes,  and  flaxen  hair , 

The  blythe  companions  of  his  riper  youth, 

And  one  whose  heart  was  love,  whose  soul  was  truth. 

— When  the  quick-mingling  pictures  of  that  dream 

(Like  broken  scenery  on  a  troubled  stream, 

WJiere  sky  and  landscape,  light  and  darkness,  run 

Through  widening  circles,)  harmonized  in  one, 

His  father's  cot  appeared,  with  vine-leaves  drest, 

And  clusters  pendent  round  the  swallow's  nest ; 

In  front  the  little  garden,  at  whose  gate, 

Amidst  their  progeny,  his  parents  sate, 

He  only  absent ; — but  his  mother's  eye  . 

Look'd  through  a  tear ; — she  reach'd  him  with  a  sigh : 

Then  in  a  moment  vanish'd  time  and  spaca» 

And  with  a  shout  he  rush'd  to  her  embrace  ; 

Round  hills  and  dales  the  joyful  tidings  spread, 

All  ran  to  welcome  TYRKER  from  the  dead. 

With  bliss  inebriate,  in  that  giddy  trance, 

He  led  his  waltzing  partner  through  the  dance ; 

And  while  he  pluck'd  the  grapes  that  blush'd  at  hand, 

Trod  the  rich  wine-press  in  his  native  land, 

Quaff' d  the  full  flowing  goblet,  loosed  his  tongue, 

And  songs  of  vintage,  harvest,  battle  sung, 

At  length  his  shipmates  came  :  their  laughter  broke 

The  gay  delusion ;  in  alarm  he  woke : 

Transport  to  silent  melancholy  changed  ; 

At  once  from  love,  and  joy,  and  hope  estranged, 

O'er  his  blank  mind,  with  cold,  bereaving  spell, 

Came  that  heart-sickness  which  no  tongue  can  tell ; 

— Felt  when,  in  foreign  climes,  midst  sounds  unknown, 

We  hear  the  speech  or  music  of  our  own, 

Roused  to  delight,  from  drear  abstraction  start, 

And  feel  our  country  beating  at  our  heart ; 


GUKENLAND.  5141 


The  rapture  of  a  moment ; — in  its  birth 

It  perishes  for  ever  from  the  earth  ; 

And  dumb,  like  shipwreck'd  mariners,  we  stand, 

Eyeing  by  turns  the  ocean  and  the  land, 

Breathless ; — till  tears  the  struggling  thought  release, 

And  the  lorn  spirit  weeps  itself  to  peace. 

Wineland  the  glad  discoverers  call'd  that  shore, 
And  back  the  tidings  of  its  riches  bore ; 
But  soon  return'd  with  colonizing  bands, 
— Men  that  at  home  would  sigh  for  unknown  lands ; 
Men  of  all  weathers,  fit  for  every  toil, 
War,  commerce,  pastime,  peace,  adventure,  spoil ; 
Bold  master-spirits,  where  they  touch'd  they  gain'd 
Ascendance ;  where  they  fix'd  their  foot  they  reign'd. 
Both  coasts  they  long  inherited,  though  wide 
Dissever'd  ;  stemming  to  and  fro  the  tide, 
Free  as  the  Syrian  dove  explores  the  sky, 
Their  helm  their  hope,  their  compass  in  their  eye, 
They  found  at  will,  where'er  they  pleased  to  roam, 
The  ports  of  strangers  or  their  northern  home, 
Still  midst  tempestuous  seas  and  zones  of  ice, 
Loved  as  their  own,  their  unlost  Paradise. 
Yet  was  their  Paradise  for  ever  lost: 
War,  famine,  pestilence,  the  power  of  frost, 
Their  woes  combining,  wither'd  from  the  earth 
This  late  creation,  like  a  timeless  birth, 
The  fruit  of  age  and  weakness,  forced  to  light, 
Breathing  awhile, — relapsing  into  night. 

Ages  had  seen  the  vigorous  race,  that  sprung 
From  Norway's  stormy  forelands,  rock'd  when  young 
In  ocean's  cradle,  hardening  as  they  rose, 
Like  mountain-pines  amidst  perennial  snows 
— Ages  had  seen  these  sturdiest  sons  of  Time 
Strike  root  and  flourish  in  that  ruffian  clime, 
Commerce,  with  lovelier  lands  and  wealthier  hold, 
Yet  spurn  the  lures  of  luxury  and  gold ; 
Beneath  the  umbrage  of  the  Gallic  vine, 
For  moonlight  snows  and  cavern-shelter  pine ; 

..>;..  I.  -1 


242  GREENLAND. 


Turn  from  Campanian  fields  a  lofty  eye 
To  gaze  upon  the  glorious  Alps,  and  sigh, 
Remembering  Greenland ;  more  and  more  endear' d, 
As  far  and  farther  from  its  shores  they  steer'd  ; 
Greenland  their  world, — and  all  was  strange  beside ; 
Elsewhere  they  wander'd  ;  here  they  lived  and  died. 

At  length  a  swarthy  tribe,  without  a  name, 
Unknown  the  point  of  windward  whence  they  came ; 
The  power  by  which  stupendous  gulfs  they  cross'd, 
Or  compass'd  wilds  of  everlasting  frost, 
Alike  mysterious  ; — found  their  sudden  way 
To  Greenland ;  pour'd  along  the  western  bay 
Their  straggling  families  ;  and  seized  the  soil 
For  their  domain,  the  ocean  for  their  spoil. 
Skraettinga  the  Normans  call'd  these  hordes  in  scorn, 
That  seem'd  created  on  the  spot, — though  born 
In  trans- Atlantic  climes,  and  thither  brought 
By  paths  as  covert  as  the  birth  of  thought ; 
They  were  at  once  ; — the  swallow-tribes  in  spring 
Thus  daily  multiply  upon  the  wing, 
As  if  the  air,  their  element  of  flight, 
Brought  forth  new  broods  from  darkness  every  night ; 
Slipt  from  the  secret  hand  of  Providence, 
They  come  we  see  not  how,  nor  know  we  whe*nce. 

A  stunted,  stern,  uncouth,  amphibious  stock, 
Hewn  from  the  living  marble  of  the  rock, 
Or  sprung  from  mermaids,  and  in  ocean's  bed, 
With  ores  and  seals,  in  sunless  caverns  bred, 
They  might  have  held,  from  unrecorded  time, 
Sole  patrimony  in  that  hideous  clime, 
So  lithe  their  limbs,  so  fenced  their  frames  to  bear 
The  intensest  rigours  of  the  polar  air ; 
Nimble,  and  muscular,  and  keen  to  run 
The  rein-deer  down  a  circuit  of  the  sun  ; 
To  climb  the  slippery  clifls,  explore  their  celJs, 
And  storm  and  sack  the  sea-birds'  citadels  ;     7  ;.  • 
In  bands,  through  snows,  the  mother-bears  to  trace 
Slay  with  their  darts  the  cabs  in  her  embrace. 


GREENLAND.  941 


And,  while  she  lick'd  their  bleeding  wounds,  to  brave 

Her  deadliest  vengeance  in  her  inmost  cave  : 

Train'd  with  inimitable  skill  to  float,  * 

Each,  balanced  in  his  bubble  of  a  boat, 

With  dexterous  paddle  steering  through  the  spraj1-, 

With  poised  harpoon  to  strike  his  plunging  prey, 

As  though  the  skiff,  the  seaman,  oar,  and  dart 

Were  one  compacted  body,  by  one  heart 

With  instinct,  motion,  pulse,  empower'd  to  ride 

A  human  Nautilus  upon  the  tide ; 

Or  with  a  fleet  of  Kayaks  to  assail 

The  desperation  of  the  stranded  whale, 

When  wedged  'twixt  jagged  rocks  he  writhes  and  rolls 

In  agony  among  the  ebbing  shoals, 

Lashing  the  waves  to  foam,  until  the  flood, 

From  wounds,  like  geysers,  seems  a  bath  of  blood. 

Echo  all  night  dumb-pealing  to  his  roar, 

Till  morn  beholds  him  slain  along  the  shore. 

Of  these, — hereafter  should  the  lyre  be  strung 
To  arctic  themes, — may  glorious  days  be  sung ; 
Now  be  our  task  the  sad  reverse  to  tell, 
How  in  their  march  the  nobler  Normans  fell  ;s 
— Whether  by  dire  disease,  that  turn'd  the  breath 
Of  bounteous  heaven  to  pestilence  and  death, 
In  number,  strength,  and  spirit  worn  away, 
Their  lives  became  the  cool  assassin's  prey ; 
— Or  in  the  battle-field,  as  Skraellings  boast, 
These  pigmies  put  to  flight  their  giant-host, 
When  front  to  front  on  scowling  cliffs  they  stood, 
And  shot  their  barbs  athwart  the  parting  flood ; 
Arrow  smote  arrow,  dart  encounter' d  dart, 
From  hand  to  hand,  impaling  heart  for  heart ; 
Till  spent  their  missiles  :  quick  as  in  a  dream 
The  images  are  changed ;  across  the  stream 
The  Skraellings  rush'd,  the  precipices  scaled ; 
— -O'erwhelm'd  by  multitude,  the  Normans  fail'd : 
A  scatter' d  remnant  to  the  south  retired, 
But  one  by  one  along  their  route  expired : 


144  GREENLAND. 


They  perish'd ; — History  can  no  more  relate 

Of  their  obscure  and  unlamented  fate  : 

They  perish'd ; — yet  along  that  western  shore, 

Where  Commerce  spread  her  colonies  of  yore, 

Ruins  of  temples  and  of  homes  are  traced, 

— Steps  of  magnificence  amidst  the  waste 

Where  Time  hath  trod,  and  left  those  wrecks  to  show 

That  life  hath  been,  where  all  is  Death  below. 


CANTO  FIFTH. 

The  Depopulation  of  the  Norwegian  Colonies  on  the  Eastern  Coon  »/  Greenland, 
and  the  Abandonment  nf  Intercourse  with  it  from  Europe,  in  consequence  of  tht 
Increase  of  the  Arctic  Ices,  about  the  Beginning  of  the  Fifteenth  Century. 

LAUNCH  on  the  gulf,  my  little  Greenland  bark ' 

Bear  me  through  scenes  unutterably  dark ; 

Scenes  with  the  mystery  of  Nature  seal'd, 

Nor  till  the  day  of  doom  to  be  reveal'd. 

What  though  the  spirits  of  the  arctic  gales 

Freeze  round  thy  prow,  or  fight  against  thy  sails, 

Safe  as  Arion,  whom  the  dolphin  bore, 

Enamour'd  of  his  music,  to  the  shore, 

On  thee  adventuring  o'er  an  unknown  main, 

I  raise  to  warring  elements  a  strain 

Of  kindred  harmony: — Oh,  lend  your  breath, 

Ye  tempests  !  while  I  sing  this  reign  of  death  : 

Utter  dark  sayings  of  the  days  of  old ; 

In  parables  upon  my  harp  unfold 

Deeds  perish'd  from  remembrance ;  truth,  array'd 

Like  heaven  by  night,  in  emblematic  shade, 

When  shines  the  horoscope,  and  star  on  star, 

By  what  they  are  not  lead  to  what  they  are  ; 

Atoms,  that  twinkle  in  an  infant's  eye, 

Are  worlds,  suns,  systems  in  th'  unbounded  sky : 

Thus  the  few  fabled  woes  my  strains  create 

Are  hieroglyphics  in  a  book  of  Fate  ; 


GREENLAND.  MS 


And  while  the  shadowy  symbols  I  unroll, 
Imagination  reads  a  direr  scroll. 
Wake,  ye  wild  visions  !  o'er  the  northern  deep, 
On  clouds  and  winds,  like  warrior-spectres  sweep ; 
Show  by  what  plagues  and  hurricanes  destroy'd,     . 
A  breathing  realm  became  a  torpid  void. 

The  floods  are  raging,  and  the  gales  blow  high, 
Low  as  a  dungeon-roof  impends  the  sky ; 
Prisoners  of  hope,  between  the  clouds  and  waves, 
Six  fearless  sailors  man  yon  boat,  that  braves 
Peril  redoubling  upon  peril  past : 
— From  childhood  nurslings  of  the  wayward  blast, 
Aloft  as  o'er  a  buoyant  arch  they  go, 
Whose  keystone  breaks ; — as  deep  they  plunge  below; 
Unyielding,  though  the  strength  of  man  be  vain  ; 
Struggling,  though  borne  like  surf  along  the  main ; 
In  front,  a  battlement  of  rocks ;  in  rear, 
Billow  on  billow  bounding :  near,  more  near, 
They  verge  to  ruin ; — life  and  death  depend 
On  the  next  impulse ; — shrieks  and  prayers  ascend , 
When,  like  the  fish  that  mounts  on  drizzling  wings, 
Sheer  from  the  gulf  th'  ejected  vessel  springs, 
And  grounds  on  inland  ice,  beyond  the  track 
Of  hissing  foam-wreaths,  whence  the  tide  roll'd  back ; 
Then  ere  that  tide,  returning  to  the  charge, 
Swallows  the  wreck,  the  captives  are  at  large. 
On  either  hand  steep  hills  obstruct  their  path ; 
Behind,  the  ocean  roaring  in  his  wrath, 
Mad  as  a  Libyan  wilderness  by  night,        .  . 
With  all  its  lions  up,  in  chase  or  fight. 
The  fugitives  right  onward  shun  the  beach, 
Nor  tarry  till  the  inmost  cove  they  reach, 
Recluded  in  the  labyrinthine  dell, 
Like  the  last  hollow  of  a  spiral  shell. 
There,  with  the  axe  or  knife  which  haste  could  save, 
•  They  build  a  house;- — perhaps  they  dig  a  grave : 
Of  solid  snow,  well-squared,  and  piled  in  blocks, 
Brilliant  as  hewn  from  alabaster  rocks, 

21* 


*!6  GREENLAND. 


Their  palace  rises,  narrowing  to  the  roof, 
And  freezes  into  marble,  tempest-proof; 
Night  closing  round,  within  its  shade  they  creep, 
And  weary  Nature  sinks  at  once  to  sleep. 

Oh  !  could  we  walk  amidst  their  dreams,  and  see 
All  that  they  have  been,  are,  or  wish  to  be, 
In  fancy's  world  ! — each  at  his  own  fireside : 
One  greets  a  parent ;  one  a  new-made  bride  ; 
Another  clasps  his  babe  with  fond  embrace, 
A  smile  in  slumber  mantling  o'er  his  face  ; 
All  dangers  are  forgotten  in  a  kiss, 
Or  but  remember'd  to  exalt  the  bliss. 
— One  wounded  sufferer  wakes,  with  pain  opprest, 
Yet  a"re  his  thoughts  at  home  among  the  rest ; 
Then  beams  his  eye,  his  heart  dilated  burns, 
Till  the  dark  vigil  to  a  vision  turns, 
That  vision  to  reality  :  and  home 
Is  so  endear'd,  he  vows  no  more  to  roam. 
Ha  !  suddenly  he  starts  :  with  trembling  lips, 
Salt  shower  drops  oozing  through  the  roof,  he  sips : 
Aware  that  instant,  yet  alarm'd  too  late, 
—The  sea  hath  burst  its  barrier,  fix'd  their  fate ; 
Escape  impossible  :  the  tempests  urge 
Through  the  deep  dell  the  inundating  surge  : 
Nor  wall  nor  roof  th'  impetuous  flood  controls  ; 
Above,  around,  within,  the  deluge  rolls : 
He  calls  his  comrades  ; — ere  their  doom  be  known, 
'Tis  past ; — the  snow-house  utterly  o'erthrovvn, 
Its  inmates  vanish ;  never  to  be  found, 
Living  or  dead,  on  habitable  ground. 

There  is  a  beauteous  hamlet  in  the  vale ; 
Green  are  the  fields  around  it ;  sweetly  sail 
The  twilight  shadows  o'er  the  darkening  scene, 
Earth,  air,  and  ocean,  all  alike  serene  ; 
Dipt  in  the  hues  of  sunset,  wreath'd  in  zones, 
The  clouds  are  resting  on  their  mountain-thrones ; 
One  peak  alone  exalts  its  glacier  crest, 
A  golden  paradise,  above  the  rest ; 


GREENLAND.  847 


Thither  the  day  with  lingering*  steps  retires, 

And  in  its  own  blue  element  expires  : 

Thus  Aaron  laid  his  gorgeous  robes  aside 

On  Horeb's  consecrated  top,  and  died. 

The  moon,  meanwhile,  o'er  ocean's  sombre  bed, 

New-risen,  a  thousand  glow-worm  lights  hath  spread ; 

From  east  to  west  the  wildfire  splendours  glance, 

And  all  the  billows  in  her  glory  dance ; 

Till,  in  mid-heaven,  her  orb  might  seem  the  eye 

Of  Providence,  wide-watching  from  the  sky, 

While  nature  slumbers  ; — emblem  of  His  grace 

Whose  presence  fills  the  infinite  of  space. 

The  clouds  have  left  the  mountains ;  coldly  bright. 
Their  icy  summits  shed  cerulean  light ;  . 

The  steep  declivities  between  assume 
A  horror  of  unfathomable  gloo.n  : 
The  village  sleeps ; — from  house  to  house,  the  ear 
Of  yonder  sentinel  no  sound  can  hear : 
A  maniac  ; — he,  while  calmer  head ?  repose, 
Takes  his  night  round,  to  tell  the  stars  his  woes ; 
Woes,  which  his  noble  heart  to  frenzy  stung ; 
— He  hath  no  bard,  and  they  remain  unsung. 
A  warrior  once,  victorious  arms  he  bore, 
And  bears  them  still,  although  his  wars  are  o'er ; 
For  'tis  his  boast,  with  shield  and  sword  in  hand, 
To  be  the  guardian  angel  of  the  land. 
Mark  with  what  stern  solemnity  he  stalks, 
And  to  himself  as  to  a  legion  talks  : 
Now  deep  in  council  with  his  chiefs  ;  anon 
He  starts,  as  at  the  trumpet ;  leads  them  on, 
And  wins  the  day ; — his  battle-shout  alarms 
None  but  the  infant  in  the  nurse's  arms  : 
Soon  hush'd,  but  closer  to  her  side,  it  sleeps ; 
While  he  abroad  his  watch  in  silence  keeps. 

At  every  door  he  halts,  and  brings  a  sigh, 
But  leaves  a  blessing,  when  he  marches  by  ; 
He  stops  ;  from  that  low  roof,  a  deadly  groan 
Hath  made  unutterable  anguish  known ; 


248  GREENLAND. 


A  spirit  into  eternity  hath  pass'd  ; 
A  spouse,  a  father,  there  hath  breathed  his  last. 
The  widow  and  her  little  ones  weep  not ; 
In  its  excess  their  misery  is  forgot, 
One  dumb,  dark  moment ; — then  from  all  their  eyes 
Rain  the  salt  tears,  and  loud  their  wailings  rise  : 
Ah  !  little  think  that  family  forlorn 
How  brief  the  parting ; — they  shall  meet  ere  morn ! 
For  lo !  the  witness  of  their  pangs  hath  caught 
A  sight  that  startles  madness  into  thought : 
Back  from  their  gate  unconsciously  he  reels ; 
A  resurrection  of  his  soul  he  feels. 
There  is  a  motion  in  the  air :  his  eye 
Blinks  as  it  fear'd  the  falling  of  the  sky. 
The  splendid  peak  of  adamantine  ice, 
At  sunset  like  an  earthly  paradise, 
And  in  the  moon  of  such  empyrean  hue, 
It  seem'd  to  bring  the  unseen  Avorld  to  view ; 
— That  splendid  peak,  the  Power  (which  to  the  spheres 
Had  piled  its  turrets  through  a  thousand  years) 
Touches,  as  lightly  as  the  passing  wind, 
And  the  huge  mass,  o'erbalanced,  undermined, 
And  dislocated  from  its  base  of  snow, 
Slides  down  the  slope,  majestically  slow, 
Till  o'er  the  precipice,  down  headlong  sent, 
And  in  ten  thousand  thousand  spangles  rent, 
It  piles  a  hill  where  spread  a  vale  before  : 
— From  rock  to  rock  the  echoes  round  the  shore 
Tell  with  their  deep  artillery  the  fate 
Of  the  whole  village  crush'd  beneath  its  weight. 
— The  sleepers  wake, — their  homes  in  ruins  hurl'd, — 
They  Avake — from  death  into  another  world. 
The  gazing  maniac,  palsied  into  stone, 
Amidst  the  wreck  of  ice,  survives  alone  ; 
A  sudden  interval  of  reason  gleams, 
Steady  and  clear,  amidst  his  wildering  dreams, 
But  shows  reality  in  such  a  shape, 
Twere  rapture  back  to  frenzy  to  escape 


GREENLAND. 


Again  the  clouds  of  desolation  roll, 
Blotting  all  old  remembrance  from  his  soul : 
Whate'er  his  sorrows  or  his  joys  have  been, 
His  spirit  grows  imbodied  through  this  scene ; 
With  eyes  of  agony,  and  clenching  hands, 
Fix'd  in  recoil,  a  frozen  form  he  stands, 
And,  smit  with  wonder  at  his  people's  doom, 
Becomes  the  monument  upon  their  tomb. 

Behold  a  scene,  magnificent  and  new ; 
Nor  land  nor  water  meet  th'  excursive  view ; 
The  round  horizon  girds  one  frozen  plain, 
The  mighty  tombstone  of  the  buried  main, 
Where,  dark  and  silent,  and  unfelt  to  flow, 
A  dead  sea  sleeps  with  all  its  tribes  below. 
But  heaven  is  still  itself;  the  deep  blue  sky 
Comes  down  with  smiles  to  meet  the  glancing  eye, 
Though  if  a  keener  sight  its  bound  would  trace, 
The  arch  recedes  through  everlasting  space. 
The  sun,  in  morning  glory,  mounts  his  throne, 
Nor  shines  he  here  in  solitude  unknown  ; 
North,  south,  and  west,  by  dogs  or  reindeer  drawn, 
Careering  sledges  cross  th'  unbroken  lawn, 
And  bring  from  bays  and  forelands  round  the  coast, 
Youth,  beauty,  valour,  Greenland's  proudest  boast. 
Who  thus,  in  winter's  long  and  social  reign, 
Hold  feasts  and  tournaments  upon  the  main, 
When,  built  of  solid  floods,  his  bridge  extends 
A  highway  o'er  the  gulf  to  meeting  friends, 
Whom  rocks  impassable,  or  winds  and  tide, 
Fickle  and  false,  in  summer  months  divide. 

The  scene  runs  round  with  motion,  rings  with  mirth, 
— No  happier  spot  upon  the  peopled  earth ; 
The  drifted  snow  to  dust  the  travellers  beat, 
Th'  uneven  ice  is  flint  beneath  their  feet. 
Here  tents,  a  gay  encampment,  rise  around, 
Where  music,  song,  and  revelry  resound ; 
There  the  blue  smoke  upwreathes  a  hundred  spires, 
Where  humbler  groups  have  lit  their  pine-wood  fires. 


250  GREENLAND. 


Ere  long  they  quit  the  tables  ;  knights  and  dames 

Lead  the  blithe  multitude  to  boisterous  games. 

Bears,  wolves,  and  lynxes,  yonder  head  the  chase ; 

Here  start  the  harness'd  rein-deer  in  the  race ; 

Borne  without  wheels,  a  flight  of  rival  cars 

Track  the  ice-firmament,  like  shooting  stars, 

Right  to  the  goal,  converging  as  they  run, 

They  dwindle  through  the  distance  into  one. 

Where  smoother  waves  have  form'd  a  sea  of  glass, 

With  pantomimic  change  the  skaiters  pass ; 

Now  toil  like  ships  'gainst  wind  and  stream ;  then  wheel 

Like  flames  blown  suddenly  asunder ;  reel 

Like  drunkards  ;  then  dispersed  in  tangents  wide, 

Away  with  speed  invisible  they  glide. 

Peace  in  their  hearts,  death-weapons  in  their  hands, 

Fierce  in  mock-battle  meet  fraternal  bands, 

Whom  the  same  chiefs  erewhile  to  conflict  led, 

When  friends  by  friends,  by  kindred  kindred  bled. 

Here  youthful  rings  with  pipe  and  drum  advance, 

And  foot  the  mazes  of  the  giddy  dance ; 

Gray-beard  spectators,  with  illumined  eye, 

Lean  on  their  staves,  and  talk  of  days  gone  by  ; 

Children,  who  mimic  all,  from  pipe  and  drum 

To  chase  and  battle,  dream  of  years  to  come : 

Those  years  to  come  the  young  shall  ne'er  behold ; 

The  days  gone  by  no  more  rejoice  the  old. 

There  is  a  boy,  a  solitary  boy, 
Who  takes  no  part  in  all  this  whirl  of  joy, 
Yet,  in  the  speechless  transport  of  his  soul 
He  lives,  and  moves,  and  breathes  throughout  the  whole: 
Him  should  destruction  spare,  the  plot  of  earth, 
That  forms  his  play-ground,  gave  a  poet  birth, 
Who,  on  the  wings  of  his  immortal  lays, 
Thine  heroes,  Greenland  !  to  the  stars  shall  raise. 
It  must  not  be  : — abruptly  from  the  show 
He  turns  his  eyes,  his  thoughts  are  gone  below 
To  so'ind  the  depths  of  ocean,  where  his  mind 
Creates  the  wonders  which  it  cannot  find. 


GREENLAND. 


Listening,  as  oft  he  listens  in  a  shell 

To  the  mock  tide's  alternate  fall  and  swell, 

He  kneels  upon  the  ice, — inclines  his  ear, 

And  hears,— or  does  he  only  seem  to  hear?— 

A  sound,  as  though  the  Genius  of  the  deep 

Heaved  a  long  sigh,  awakening  out  of  sleep. 

He  starts  ; — 'twas  but  a  pulse  within  his  brain ! 

No ; — for  he  feels  it  beat  through  every  vein  ; 

Groan  following  groan,  (as  from  a  giant's  breast, 

Beneath  a  burying  mountain,  ill  at  rest,) 

With  awe  ineffable  his  spirit  thrills, 

And  rapture  fires  his  blood,  while  terror  chills. 

The  keen  expression  of  his  eye  alarms 

His  mother;  she  hath  caught  him  in  her  arms, 

And  learn'd  the  cause ; — that  cause,  no  sooner  known, 

From  lip  to  lip,  o'er  many  a  league  is  flown ; 

Voices  to  voices,  prompt  as  signals,  rise 

In  shrieks  of  consternation  to  the  skies : 

Those  skies,  meanwhile,  with  gathering  darkness  scowl; 

Hollow  and  winterly  the  bleak  winds  howl. 

— From  morn  till  noon  had  ether  smiled  serene, 

Save  one  black-belted  cloud,  far  eastward  seen, 

Like  a  snow-mountain  ; — there  in  ambush  lay 

Th'  undreaded  tempest,  panting  for  his  prey ; 

That  cloud  by  stealth  hath  through  the  welkin  spread, 

And  hangs  in  meteor-twilight  over-head  ; 

At  foot,  beneath  the  adamantine  floor, 

Loose  in  their  prison-house  the  surges  roar: 

To  every  eye,  ear,  heart,  th*  alarm  is  given, 

And  landward  crowds,  (like  flocks  of  sea-fowl  driven, 

When  storms  are  on  the  wing,)  in  wild  affright, 

On  foot,  in  sledges,  urge  their  panic  flight, 

In  hope  the  refuge  of  the  shore  to  gain 

Ere  the  disruption  of  the  struggling  main, 

Foretold  by  many  a  stroke,  like  lightning  sent 

In  thunder,  through  th'  unstable  continent, 

Which  now,  elastic  on  the  swell  below, 

Rolls  high  in  undulation  to  and  fro. 


259  GREENLAND. 


Men,  reindeer,  dogs,  the  giddy  impulse  feel, 
And,  jostling  headlong,  back  and  forward  reel : 
While  snow,  sleet,  hail,  or  whirling  gusts  of  wind, 
Exhaust,  bewilder,  stop  the  breath,  and  blind. 
All  is  dismay  and  uproar ;  some  have  found 
Death  for  deliverance,  as  they  leap'd  on  ground, 
Swept  back  into  the  flood  : — but  hope  is  vain : 
Ere  half  the  fugitives  the  beach  can  gain, 
The  fix'd  ice,  severing  from  the  shore,  with  shocks 
Of  earthquake  violence,  bounds  against  the  rocks ; 
Then  suddenly,  while  on  the  verge  they  stand, 
The  whole  recoils  for  ever  from  the  land, 
And  leaves  a  gulf  of  foam  along  the  shore, 
In  which  whoever  plunge  are  seen  no  more. 

Ocean,  meanwhile,  abroad  hath  burst  the  roof 
That  sepulchred  his  waves  ;  he  bounds  aloof. 
In  boiling  cataracts,  as  volcanoes  spout 
Their  fiery  fountains,  gush  the  waters  out ; 
The  frame  of  ice  with  dire  explosion  rends, 
And  down  th'  abyss  the  mingled  crowd  descends. 
Heaven  !  from  this  closing  horror  hide  thy  light ; 
Cast  thy  thick  mantle  o'er  it,  gracious  Night ! 
These  screams  of  mothers  with  their  infants  lost, 
These  groans  of  agony  from  wretches  tost 
On  rocks  and  whirlpools, — in  thy  storms  be  drown'd, 
The 'crash  of  mountain-ice  to  atoms  ground, 
And  rage  of  elements  ! — while  winds,  that  yell 
Like  demons,  peal  the  universal  knell, 
The  shrouding  waves  around  their  limbs  shall  spread, 
"And  Darkness  be  the  burier  of  the  dead." 
Their  pangs  are  o'er : — at  morn  the  tempests  cease, 
And  the  freed  ocean  rolls  himself  to  peace ; 
Broad  to  the  sun  his  heaving  breast  expands, 
He  holds  his  mirror  to  a  hundred  lands ; 
While  cheering  gales  pursue  the  eager  chase 
Of  billows  round  immeasurable  space.4 

Where  are  the  multitudes  of  yesterday  ? 
At  morn  they  came  ;  at  eve  they  pass'd  away. 


GREENLAND.  *M 


Yet  some  survive  ; — yon  castellated  pile 

Floats  on  the  surges,  like  a  fairy  isle ; 

Pre-eminent  upon  its  peak,  behold, 

With  walls  of  amethyst  and  roofs  of  gold, 

The  semblance  of  a  city ;  towers  and  spires 

Glance  in  the  firmament  with  opal  fires : 

Prone  from  those  heights  pellucid  fountains  flow 

O'er  pearly  meads,  through  emerald  vales  below. 

No  lovelier  pageant  moves  beneath  the  sky,5 

Nor  one  so  mournful  to  the  nearer  eye ;  . 

Here,  when  the  bitterness  of  death  had  pass'd 

O'er  others,  with  their  sledge  and  reindeer  cast, 

Five  wretched  ones,  in  dumb  despondence  wait 

The  lingering  issue  of  a  nameless  fate  ; 

A  bridal  party : — mark  yon  reverend  sage 

In  the  brown  vigour  of  autumnal  age  ; 

His  daughter  in  her  prime ;  the  youth,  who  won 

Her  love  by  miracles  of  prowess  done  ; 

With  these,  two  meet  companions  of  their  joy, 

Her  younger  sister,  and  a  gallant  boy, 

Who  hoped,  like  him,  a  gentle  heart  to  gam 

By  valorous  enterprise  on  land  or  main. 

— These,  when  the  ocean-pavement  fail'd  their  feet, 

Sought  on  a  glacier's  crags  a  safe  retreat ; 

But  in  the  shock,  from  its  foundations  torn, 

That  mass  is  slowly  o'er  the  waters  borne, 

An  ice-berg ! — on  whose  verge  all  day  they  stand, 

And  eye  the  blank  horizon's  ring  for  land. 

All  night  around  a  dismal  flame  they  weep : 

Their  sledge,  by  piecemeal,  lights  the  hoary  deep. 

Morn  brings  no  comfort ;  at  her  dawn  expire 

The  latest  embers  of  their  latest  fire ; 

For  warmth  and  food  the  patient  reindeer  bleeds, 

Happier  in  death  than  those  he  warms  and  feeds. 

— How  long,  by  that  precarious  raft  upbuoy'd, 

They  blindly  drifted  on  a  shorleess  void  ; 

How  long  they  sufTcr'd,  or  how  soon  they  found 

Rest  in  the  gulf,  or  peace  on  living  ground ; 

OL.  i.  .' : 


154  GREENLAND. 


— Whether,  by  hunger,  cold,  and  grief  consumed, 

They  perish'd  miserably — and  unentornb'd 

(While  on  that  frigid  bier  their  corses  lay), 

Became  the  sea-fowl's  or  the  sea-bear's  prey : 

— Whether  the  wasting  mound,  by  swift  degrees, 

Exhaled  in  mist  and  vanish'd  from  the  seas, 

While  they,  too  weak  to  struggle  even  in  death, 

Lock'd  in  each  other's  arms,  resign'd  their  breath, 

And  their  white  skeletons,  beneath  the  wave, 

Lie  intertwined  in  one  sepulchral  cave ; 

— Or  meeting  some  Norwegian  bark  at  sea, 

They  deem'd  its  deck  a  world  of  liberty  ; 

• — Or  sunward  sailing,  on  green  Erin's  sod, 

They  kneel'd  and  worshipp'd  a  delivering  God, 

Where  yet  the  blood  they  brought  from  Greenland  runs 

Among  the  noblest  of  our  sister's  sons, 

— Is  all  unknown  : — their  ice-berg  disappears 

Amidst  the  flood  of  unreturriing  years. 

Ages  are  fled  ;  and  Greenland's  hour  draws  nigh; 
Seal'd  is  the  judgment ;  all  her  race  must  die  ; 
Commerce  forsakes  th'  unvoyageable  seas, 
That  year  by  year  with  keener  rigour  freeze  ; 
Th'  embargoed  waves  in  narrower  channels  roll 
To  blue  Spitzbergen  and  the  utmost  pole  ; 
A  hundred  colonies,  erewhile  that  lay 
On  the  green  marge  of  many  a  shelter'd  bay, 
Lapse  to  the  wilderness ;  their  tenants  throng 
Where  streams  in  summer,  turbulent  and  strong, 
With  molten  ice  from  inland  Alps  supplied, 
Hold  free  communion  with  the  breathing  tide, 
That  from  the  heart  of  ocean  sends  the  flood 
Of  living  water  round  the  world,  like  blood  ; 
But  Greenland's  pulse  shall  slow  and  slower  beat, 
Till  the  last  spark  of  genial  warmth  retreat, 
And,  like  a  palsied  limb  of  Nature's  frame, 
Greenland  be  nothing  but  a  place  and  name 
That  crisis  comes  ;  the  wafted  fuel  fails  ;B 
The  cattle  perish ;  famine  long  prevails 


GREENLAND.  «55 


With  torpid  sloth,  intenser  seasons  bind 
The  strength  of  muscle  and  the  spring  of  mind ; 
Man  droops,  his  spirits  waste,  his  powers  decay, 
— His  generation  soon  shall  pass  away. 

At  moonless  midnight,  on  this  naked  coast, 
How  beautiful  in  heaven  the  starry  host ! 
With  lambent  brilliance  o'er  these  cloister-walls, 
Slant  from  the  firmament  a  meteor  falls ; 
A  steadier  flame  from  yonder  beacon  streams, 
To  light  the  vessel,  seen  in  golden  dreams 
By  many  a  pining  wretch,  whose  slumbers  feign 
The  bliss  for  which  he  looks  at  morn  in  vain. 
Two  years  are  gone,  and  half  expired  a  third 
(The  nation's  heart  is  -sick  with  hope  deferr'd), 
Since  last  for  Europe  sail'd  a  Greenland  prow, 
Her  whole  marine, — so  shorn  is  Greenland  now, 
Though  once,  like  clouds  in  ether  unconfined, 
Her  naval  wings  were  spread  to  every  wind. 
The  monk,  who  sits,  the  weary  hours  to  count, 
In  the  lone  block-house  on  the  beacon-mount, 
Watching  the  east,  beholds  the  morning  star 
Eclipsed  at  rising  o'er  the  waves  afar, 
As  if — for  so  would  fond  expectance  think — 
A  sail  had  cross'd  it  on  the  horizon's  brink. 
His  fervent  soul,  in  ecstasy  outdrawn, 
Glows  with  the  shadows  kindling  through  (he  dawn, 
Till  every  bird  that  flashes  through  the  brine 
Appears  an  ann'd  and  gallant  brigantine  ; 
And  every  sound  along  the  air  that  comes, 
The  voice  of  clarions  and  the  roll  of  drums. 
— 'Tis  she  !  'tis  she  !  the  well-known  keej  af  last, 
With  Greenland's  banner  streaming  at  the  mast ; 
The  full-s\voln  sails,  the  spring-tide,  and  the  breeze, 
Waft  on  her  way  the  pilgrim  of  the  seas. 
The  monks  at  matins  issuing  from  their/;ells, 
Spread  the  glad  tidings ;  while  their  convent-bells 
Wake  town  and  country,  sea  and  shore,  to  bliss 
Unknown  for  years  on  any  morn  but  this. 


256  GREENLAND. 


Men,  women,  children  throng  the  joyous  strand, 

Whose  mob  of  moving-  shadows  o'er  the  sand 

Lengthen  to  giants,  while  the  hovering  sun 

Lights  up  a  thousand  radiant  points  from  one. 

The  pilots  launch  their  boats  : — a  race  !  a  race  ! 

The  strife  of  oars  is  seen  in  every  face ; 

Arm  against  arm  puts  forth  its  might  to  reach, 

And  guide  the  welcome  stranger  to  the  beach. 

— Shouts  from  the  shore,  the  cliffs,  the  boats,  arise ; 

No  voice,  no  signal  from  the  ship  replies  ; 

Nor  on  the  deck,  the  yards,  the  bow,  the  stern, 

Can  keenest  eye  a  human  form  discern. 

Oh !  that  those  eyes  were  open'd,  there  to  see, 

How,  in  serene  and  dreadful  majesty, 

Sits  the  destroying  Angel  at  the  helm ! 

— He,  who  hath  lately  march'd  from  realm  to  realm, 

And  from  the  palace  to  the  peasant's  shed,        . 

Made  all  the  living  kindred  to  the  dead : 

Nor  man  alone,  dumb  nature  felt  his  wrath, 

Drought,  mildew,  murrain,  strew'd  his  carnage-path ; 

Harvest  and  vintage  cast  their  timeless  fruit, 

Forests  before  him  wither'd  from  the  root. 

To  Greenland  now,  with  unexhausted  power, 

He  comes  commission'd ;  and  in  evil  hour 

Propitious  elements  prepare  his  way ; 

His  day  of  landing  is  a  festal  day. 

A  boat  arrives  ; — to  those  who  scale  the  deck, 
Of  life  appears  but  one  disastrous  wreck ; 
Fallen  from  the  rudder,  which  he  fain  had  grasp'd, 
But  stronger  Death  his  wrestling  hold  unclasp'd ; 
The  film  of  9arkness  freezing  o'er  his  eyes, 
A  lukewarm  corpse,  the  brave  commander  lies ; 
Survivor  sole  of  all  his  buried  crew, 
Whom  one  by  one  the  rife  contagion  slew, 
Just  when  the  cliffs  of  Greenland  cheer'd  his  sight, 
Even  from  their  pinnacle  his  soul  took  flight. 
Chill'd  at  the  spectacle,  the  pilots  gaze 
One  on  another,  lost  in  blank  amaze ;  • 


GREENLAND.  »7 


But  from  approaching  boats,  when  rivals  throng, 
They  seize  the  helm,  in  silence  steer  along, 
And  cast  their  anchor,  midst  exulting  cries, 
That  make  the  rocks  the  echoes  of  the  skies, 
Till  the  mysterious  signs  of  woes  to  come, 
Circled  by  whispers,  strike  the  uproar  dumb. 
Rumour  affirms,  that  by  some  heinous  spell 
Of  Lapland  witches,  crew  and  captain  fell ; 
None  guess  the  secret  of  perfidious  fate, 
Which  all  shall  know  too  soon, — yet  know  too  late. 
The  monks,  who  claim,  the  ship,  divide  the  stores 
Of  food  and  raiment  at  their  convent-doors. 
— A  mother,  hastening  to  her  cheerless  shed, 
Breaks  to  her  little  ones  untasted  bread  ; 
Clamorous  as  nestling  birds,  the  hungry  band 
Receive  a  mortal  portion  at  her  hand : 
On  each  would  equal  love  the  best  confer, 
Each  by  distinct  affection  dear  to  her ; 
One  the  first  pledge  that  to  her  spouse  she  gave, 
And  one  unborn  till  he  was  in  his  grave  ; 
This  was  his  darling,  that  to  her  most  kind ; 
A  fifth  was  once  a  twin,  the  sixth  is  blind : 
In  each  she  lives  : — in  each  by  turns  she  dies ; 
Smitten  by  pestilence  before  her  eyes, 
Three  days,  and  all  are  slain ; — the  heaviest  doom 
Is  hers ;  their  ice-barr'd  cottage  is  their  tomb. 
— The  wretch,  whose  limbs  are  impotent  with  cold- 
In  the  warm  comfort  of  a  mantle  roll'd, 
Lies  down  to  slumber  on  his  soul's  desire  ; 
But  wakes  at  morn,  as  wrapt  in  flames  of  fire : 
Not  Hercules,  when  from  his  breast  he  tore 
The  cloak  envenom'd  with  the  Centaur's  gore, 
Felt  sharper  pangs  than  he,  who,  mad  with  rage, 
Dives  in  the  gulf,  or  rolls  in  snow  t'  assuage 
His  quenchless  agony  ;  the  rankling  dart 
Within  him  burns  till  it  consumes  his  heart. 
From  vale  to  vale  th'  affrighted  victims  fly, 
But  catch  or  give  the  plague  with  every  sigh : 

22* 


«58  GREENLAND. 


A  touch  contaminates  the  purest  veins, 
Till  the  Black  Death  through  all  the  region  reigns. * 
Comes  there  no  ship  again  to  Greenland's  shore  ? 
There  comes  another : — there  shall  come  no  more  ; 
Nor  this  shall  reach  a  haven : — What  are  these 
Stupendous  monuments  upon  the  seas  ? 
Works  of  Omnipotence,  in  wondrous  forms, 
Immovable  as  mountains  in  the  storms  ? 
Far  as  Imagination's  eye  can  roll, 
One  range  of  Alpine  glaciers  to  the  pole 
Flanks  the  whole  eastern  coast ;  and,  branching  wide, 
Arches  o'er  many  a  league  th'  indignant  tide, 
That  works  and  frets,  with  unavailing  flow, 
To  mine  a  passage  to  the  beach  below ; 
Thence  from  its  neck  that  winter  yoke  to  rend, 
And  down  the  gulf  the  crashing  fragments  send. 
There  lies  a  vessel  in  this  realm  of  frost, 
Not  wreck'd,  nor  stranded,  yet  for  ever  lost ; 
Its  keel  embedded  in  the  solid  mass ; 
Its  glistening  sails  appear  expanded  glass  ; 
The  transverse  ropes  with  pearls  enormous  strung  ; 
The  yards  with  icicles  grotesquely  hung. 
Wrapt  in  the  topmost  shrouds  there  rests  a  boy, 
His  old  sea-faring  father's  only  joy ; 
Sprung  from  a  race  of  rovers,  ocean-born, 
Nursed  at  the  helm,  he  trod  dry  land  with  scorn ; 
Through  fourscore  years  from  port  to  port  he  veer'd, 
Quicksand,  nor  rock,  nor  foe,  nor  tempest  fear'd ; 
Now  cast  ashore,  though  like  a  hulk  he  lie, 
His  son  at  sea  is  ever  in  his  eye, 
And  his  prophetic  thought,  from  age  to  age, 
Esteems  the  waves  his  offspring's  heritage ; 
He  ne'er  shall  know,  in  his  Norwegian  cot, 
How  brief  that  son's  career,  how  strange  his  lot ; 
Writhed  round  the  mast,  and  sepulchred  in  air, 
Him  shall  no  worm  devour,  no  vulture  tear; 
Congeal'd  to  adamant,  his  frame  shall  last, 
Though  empires  change,  till  time  and  tide  be  past. 


GREENLAND.  S59 


On  deck,  in  groups  embracing  as  they  died, 
Singly,  erect,  or  slumbering  side  by  side, 
Behold  the  crew ! — They  sail'd,  with  hope  elate, 
For  eastern  Greenland  ;  till,  ensnared  by  fate, 
In  toils  that  mock'd  their  utmost  strength  and  skill, 
They  felt,  as  by  a  charm,  their  ship  stand  still: 
The  madness  of  the  wildest  gale  that  blows 
Were  mercy  to  that  shudder  of  repose, 
When  withering  horror  struck  from  heart  to  heart 
The  blunt  rebound  of  Death's  benumbing  dart, 
And  each,  a  petrifaction  at  his  post, 
Look'd  on  yon  father,  and  gave  up  the  ghost;8 
He,  meekly  kneeling,  with  his  hands  upraised, 
His  beard  of  driven  snow,  eyes  fix'd  and  glazed, 
Alone  among  the  dead  shall  yet  survive, 
— Th'  imperishable  dead,  that  seem  alive  ; 
— Th'  immortal  dead,  whose  spirits,  breaking  free, 
Bore  his  last  words  into  eternity, 
While  with  a  seraph's  zeal,  a  Christian's  love, 
Till  his  tongue  fail'd,  he  spoke  of  joys  above. 
Now  motionless,  amidst  the  icy  air, 
He  breathes  from  marble  lips  unutter'd  prayer, 
The  clouds  condensed,  with  dark,  unbroken  hue 
Of  stormy  purple,  overhang  his  view, 
Save  in  the  west,  to  which  he  strains  his  sight, 
One  golden  streak,  that  grows  intensely  bright, 
Till  thence  th'  emerging  sun,  with  lightning  blaze, 
Pours  the  whole  quiver  of  his  arrowy  rays  ; 
The  smitten  rocks  to  instant  diamond  turn, 
And  round  th'  expiring  saint  such  visions  burn, 
As  if  the  gates  of  Paradise  were  thrown 

Wide  open  to  receive  his  soul ; 'tis  flo\vn. 

The  glory  vanishes,  and  over  all 

Cimmerian  darkness  spreads  her  funeral  pall. 

Morn  shall  return,  and  noon,  and  rve,  and  night 
Meet  here  with  interchanging  shade  and  lijrht; 

JO  O  * 

But  from  this  bark  no  timber  shall  decay, 
Of  thene  cold  forms  no  feature  pass  away  ; 


GREENLAND. 


Perennial  ice  around  th'  incrusted  bow, 

The  peopled  deck,  and  full-rigg'd  masts  shall  grow, 

Till  from  the  sun  himself  the  whole  be  hid, 

Or  spied  beneath  a  crystal  pyramid ; 

As  in  pure  amber,  with  divergent  lines, 

A  nigged  shell  emboss'd  with  sea-weed  shines. 

From  age  to  age  increased  with  annual  snow, 

This  new  Mont  Blanc  among  the  clouds  may  glow, 

Whose  conic  peak,  that  earliest  greets  the  dawn, 

And  latest  from  the  sun's  shut  eye  withdrawn, 

Shall  from  the  zenith,  through  incumbent  gloom, 

Burn  like  a  lamp  upon  this  naval  tomb. 

But  when  th'  archangel's  trumpet  sounds  on  high, 

The  pile  shall  burst  to  atoms  through  the  sky, 

And  leave  its  dead,  upstarting  at  the  call, 

Naked  and  pale,  before  the  Judge  of  all. 

Once  more  to  Greenland's  long-forsaken  beach, 
Which  foot  of  man  again  shall  never  reach, 
Imagination  wings  her  flight,  explores 
The  march  of  Pestilence  along  the  shores, 
And  sees  how  Famine  in  his  steps  hath  paced, 
While  Winter  laid  the  soil  for  ever  waste. 
Dwellings  are  heaps  of  fallen  or  falling  stones, 
The  charnel-houses  of  unburied  bones, 
On  which  obscene  and  prowling  monsters  fed, 
But  with  the  ravin  in  their  jaws  fell  dead. 
Thus  while  Destruction,  blasting  youth  and  age. 
Raged  till  it  wanted  victims  for  its  rage  ; 
Love,  the  last  feeling  that  from  life  retires, 
Blew  the  faint  sparks  of  his  unfuell'd  fires. 
In  the  cold  sunshine  of  yon  narrow  dell 
Affection  lingers ; — there  two  lovers  dwell, 
Greenland's  whole  family ;  *hor  long  forlorn, 
There  comes  a  visitant ;  a  babe  is  born. 
O'er  his  meek  helplessness  the  parents  smiled ; 
'Twas  Hope ; — for  Hope  is  every  mother's  child : 
Then  seem'd  they,  in  that  world  of  solitude, 
The  Eve  and  Adam  of  a  race  renew'd. 


GREENLAND.  161 


Brief  happiness  !  too  perilous  to  last ; 
The  moon  hath  wax'd  and  waned,  and  all  is  past; 
Behold  the  end : — one  morn,  athwart  the  wall, 
They  mark'd  the  shadow  of  a  reindeer  fall, 
Bounding  in  tameless  freedom  o'er  the  snow  ; 
The  father  track'd  him,  and  with  fatal  bow 
Smote  down  the  victim ;  but  before  his  eyes, 
A  rabid  she-bear  pounced  upon  the  prize ; 
A  shaft  into  the  spoiler's  flank  he  sent, 
She  turn'd  in  wrath,  and  limb  from  limb  had  rent 
The  hunter;  but  his  dagger's  plunging  steel, 
With  riven  bosom,  made  the  monster  reel : 
Unvanquish'd,  both  to  closer  combat  flew, 
Assailants  each,  till  each  the  other  slew ; 
Mingling  their  blood  from  mutual  wounds,  they  lay 
Stretch'd  on  the  carcass  of  their  antler'd  prey. 

Meanwhile  his  partner  waits,  her  heart  at  rest, 
No  burden  but  her  infant  on  her  breast : 
With  him  she  slumbers,  or  with  him  she  plays, 
And  tells  him  all  her  dreams  of  future  days ; 
Asks  him  a  thousand  questions,  feigns  replies, 
And  reads  whate'er  she  wishes  in  his  eyes. 
— Red  evening  comes ;  no  husband's  shadow  falls, 
Where  fell  the  reindeer's  o'er  the  latticed  walls : 
'Tis  night ;  no  footstep  sounds  towards  her  door ; 
The  day  returns, — but  he  returns  no  more. 
In  frenzy  forth  she  sallies ;  and  with  cries, 
To  which  no  voice  except  her  own  replies 
In  frightful  echoes,  startling  all  around, 
Where  human  voice  again  shall  never  sound, 
She  seeks  him,  finds  him  not ;  some  angel-guide 
In  mercy  turns  her  from  the  corpse  aside ; 
Perhaps  his  own  freed  spirit,  lingering  near, 
Who  waits  to  waft  her  to  a  happier  sphere, 
But  leads  her  first,  at  evening,  to  their  cot 
Where  lies  the  little  one,  all  day  forgot ; 
Imparadised  in  sleep  she  finds  him  there, 
Kisses  his  cheek,  and  breathes  a  mother's  prayer. 


GREENLAND. 


Three  days  she  languishes,  nor  can  she  shed 

One  tear,  between  the  living  and  the  dead; 

When  her  lost  spouse  comes  o'er  the  widow's  thought, 

The  pangs  of  memory  are  to  madness  wrought ; 

But  when  her  suckling's  eager  lips  are  felt, 

Her  heart  would  fain — but  oh  !  it  cannot  melt ; 

At  length  it  breaks,  while  on  her  lap  he  lies, 

With  baby  wonder  gazing  in  her  eyes. 

Poor  orphan  !  mine  is  not  a  hand  to  trace 

Thy  little  story,  last  of  all  thy  race  ! 

Not  long  thy  sufferings ;  cold  and  colder  grown, 

The  arms  that  clasp  thee  chill  thy  limbs  to  stone. 

— 'Tis  done  : — from  Greenland's  coast,  the  latest  sigh 

Bore  infant  innocence  beyond  the  sky. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


863 


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MR.  MONTGOMERY 
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THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 

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'  A  V  \\  ;,T^- 


METHOUGHT  I  lived  through  ages,  and  beheld 
Their  generations  pass  so  swiftly  by  me, 
That  years  were  moments  in  their  flight,  and  hours 
The  scenes  of  crowded  centuries  reveal'd  ; 
While  Time,  Life*  Death,  the  world's  great  actors,  wrought 
New  and  amazing  changes : — these  I  sing. 
Sky,  sun,  and  sea  were  all  the  universe ;. 
The  sky,  one  blue,  interminable  arch, 
Without  a  breeze,  a  wing,  a  cloud :  the  sun 
Sole  in  the  firmament,  but  in  the  deep 
Redoubled ;  where  the  circle  of  the  sea, 
Invisible  with  calmness,  seem'd  to  lie  v  ,>,..,, 
Within  the  hollow  of  a  lower  heaven. 

o,     •    •     •  '     i  -i          e    L 

I  was  a  Spirit  in  the  midst  of  these, 
All  eye,  ear,  tnou'gKt ;  existence  was  enjoyment 
Light  was  an  element  of  life,  and  air 
The  clothing  of  my  incorporeal  form, — 
A  form  impalpable  to  mortal  touch, 
And  volatile  as  fragrance  from  the  flower, 
Or  music  in  the  woodlands.     What  the  soul 
Can  make  itself  at  pleasure,  that  I  was ; 
A  child  in  feeling  and  imagination, 
Learning  new  lessons  still,  as  Nature  wrought 
Her  wonders  in  my  presence.     All  I  saw 
(Like  Adam  when  he  walk'd  in  Paradise) 
I  knew  and  named  by  secret  intuition. 
Actor,  spectator,  sufferer,  each  in  turn, 
I  ranged,  explored,  reflected.     Now  I  sail'd, 
And  now  I  soar'd ;  anon  expanding,  seem'd 

TOL.J.  23  265 


866  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Diffused  into  immensity,  yet  bound 

Within  a  space  too  narrow  for  desire ; 

The  mind,  the  mind  perpetual  themes  must  task, 

Perpetual  power  impel,  and  hope  allure. 

I  and  the  silent  sun  were  here  alone, 

But  not  companions  ;  high  and  bright  he  held 

His  course ;  I  gazed  with  admiration  on  him, — 

There  all  communion  ended  ;  and  I  sigh'd, 

In  loneliness  \inutterable  sigh'd, 

To  feel  myself  a  wanderer  without  aim, 

An  exile  amidst  splendid  desolation, 

A  prisoner  with  infinity  surrounded. 

The  sun  descended,  dipp'd,  and  disappear'd ; 
Then  sky  and  sea  were  all  the  universe, 
And  I  the  only  being  in  existence  ! 
So  thought  I,  and  the  thought,  like  ice  and  fire, 
Went  freezing,  burning,  withering,  thrilling  through  me ; 
Annihilation  then  had  been  deliverance, 
While  that  eteniity  of  solitude 
Lay  on  my  heart,  hard  struggling  to  break  free, 
As  from  a  dream,  when  mountains  press  the  sleeper. 

Darkness,  meanwhile,  disguised  in  twilight,  crept 
O'er  air  and  ocean ;  drearier  gloom  involved 
My  fainting  senses,  till  a  sudden  ray 
Of  pensile  lustre  sparkled  from  the  west ; 
I  flew  to  meet  it,  but  drew  never  nearer, 
AVhile,  vanishing  and  re-appearing  oft, 
At  length  it  trembled  out  into  a  star. 
My  soul  revived,  and  could  I  then  have  wept, 
(Methought  I  did,)  with  tears  of  fond  delight, 
How  had  I  hail'd  the  gentle  apparition, 
As  second  life  to  me  ;  so  sweetly  welcome 
The  faintest  semblance  of  society, 
Though  but  a  point  to  rest  the  eye  upon, 
To  him  who  hath  been  utterly  bereaved ! 
— Star  after  star,  from  some  unseen  abyss, 
Came  through  the  sky,  like  thoughts  into  the  mind, 
We  know  not  whence ;  till  all  the  firmament 


] 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  867 

Was  throng'd  with  constellations,  a,nd  the  sea 

Strown  with  their  images.     Amidst  a  sphere 

Of  twinkling  lights,  like  living  eyes,  that  look'd 

At  once  on  me  from  every  side,  I  stood, 

(Motion  and  rest  with  me  were  mere  volition,) 

Myself  perhaps  a  star  among  the  rest ! 

But  here  again  I  found  no  fellowship  ; 

Sight  could  not  reach,  nor  keenest  thought  conceive 

Their  nature  or  their  offices.     To  me 

They  were  but  what  they  seem'd,  and  yet  I  felt 

They  must  be  more ;  the  mind  hath  no  horizon, 

It  looks  beyond  the  eye,  and  seeks  for  mind 

In  all  it  sees,  or  all  it  sees  o'erruling. 

Low  in  the  east,  ere  long,  the  morning  dawn 
Shot  upward,  onward,  and  around  the  pole, 
With  arrowy  glimpses  traversing  the  shade. 
Night's  train,  as  they  had  kindled  one  by  one, 
Now  one  by  one  withdrew,  reversing  order, 
Where  those  that  came  the  latest,  earliest  went : 
Day  rose  triumphant,  and  again  to  me 
Sky,  sun,  and  sea  were  all  the  universe  ; 
But  ah !  the  glory  had  departed,  and  I  long'd 
For  some  untried  vicissitude  : — it  came. 

A  breeze  sprang  up,  and  with  careering  wing 
Play'd  like  an  unseen  being  on  the  water. 
Slowly  from  slumber  'woke  the  unwilling  main, 
Curling  and  murmuring,  till  the  infant  waves 
Leap'd  on  his  lap,  and  laugh'd  in  air  and  sunshine. 
Then  all  was  bright  and  beautiful  emotion, 
And  sweet  accordance  of  susurrant  sounds. 
I  felt  the  gay  delirium  of  the  scene  ; 
I  felt  the  breeze  and  billow  chase  each  other, 
Like  bounding  pulses  in  my  human  veins : 
For,  though  impassive  to  the  elements, 
The  form  I  wore  was  exquisitely  tuned 
To  Nature's  sympathies ;  joy,  fear,  hope,  sorrow, 
(As  though  I  yet  were  in  the  body,)  moved, 
Elated,  shook,  or  tranquillized  my  soul. 


268  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Thus  pass'd  the  day :  night  followed,  deck'd  with  stars 
Innumerable,  and  the  pale  new  moon, 
Beneath  her  feet,  a  slight  inverted  crescent, 
Soon  disappearing. 

Time  flew  on,  and  brought 
Alternate  morn  and  eve.     The  sun,  the  stars, 
The  moon  through  all  her  phases,  waxing,  waning. 
The  planets  seeking  rest,  and  finding  none, 
— These  were  the  only  objects  in  mine  eye, 
The  constant  burden  of  my  thoughts,  perplex'd 
With  vain  conjectures  why  they  were  created. 

Once,  at  high  noon,  amidst  a  sultry  calm, 
Looking  around  for  comfort,  I  descried, 
Far  on  the  green  horizon's  utmost  verge, 
A  wreath  of  cloud;  to  me  a  glad  discovery. 
For  each  new  image  sprang  a  new  idea, 
The  germ  of  thoughts  to  come,  that  could  not  die. 
The  little  vapour  rapidly  expanded, 
Lowering  and  thickening  till  it  hid  the  sun, 
And  threw  a  starless  night  upon  the  sea. 
Eagerly,  tremblingly,  I  watch'd  the  end. 
Faint  gleam'd  the  lightning,  follow'd  by  no  peal ; 
Dreary  and  hollow  moans  foretold  a  gale ; 
Nor  long  the  issue  tarried  ;  then  the  wind, 
Unprison'd,  blew  its  trumpet  loud  and  shrill ; 
Out  flash'd  the  lightnings  gloriously ;  the  rain 
Came  down  like  music,  and  the  full-toned  thunder 
RolTd  in  grand  harmony  throughout  high  heaven : 
Till  ocean,  breaking  from  his  black  supineness, 
Drown'd  in  his  own  stupendous  uproar  all 
The  voices  of  the  storm  beside  ;  meanwhile 
A  war  of  mountains  raged  upon  the  surface ; 
Mountains  each  other  swallowing,  and  again 
New  Alps  and  Andes,  from  unfathom'd  valleys 
Upstarting,  join'd  the  battle  ;  like  those  sons 
Of  earth,— Giants,  rebounding  as  new-born 
From  every  fall  on  their  unwearied  mother. 
I  glow'd  with  all  the  rapture  of  the  strife : 


THE   PELICAN   ISLAND.  269 

Beneath  was  one  wild  whirl  of  foaming  surges ; 

Above,  the  array  of  lightnings,  like  the  swords 

Of  cherubim,  wide-brandish'd,  to  repel 

Aggression  from  heaven's  gates  ;  their  flaming  strokes 

Q,uench'd  momentarily  in  the  vast  abyss. 

The  voice  of  Him  who  walks  upon  the  wind, 
And  sets  his  throne  upon  the  floods,  rebuked 
The  headlong  tempest  in  its  mid-career, 
And  turn'd  its  horrors  to  magnificence. 
The  evening  sun  broke  through  the  embattled  clouds. 
And  threw  round  sky  and  sea,  as  by  enchantment, 
A  radiant  girdle,  binding  them  to  peace, 
In  the  full  rainbow's  harmony  of  beams ; 
No  brilliant  fragment,  but  one  sevenfold  circle, 
That  spann'd  the  horizon,  meted  out  the  heavens, 
And  underarch'd  the  ocean.     'Twas  a  scene, 
That  left  itself  for  ever  on  my  mind. 

Night,  silent,  cool,  transparent,  crown'd  the  day  r 
The  sky  receded  further  into  space, 
The  stars  came  lower  down  to  meet  the  eye, 
Till  the  whole  hemisphere,  alive  with  light, 
Twinkled  from  east  to  west  by  one  consent. 
The  constellations  round  the  arctic  pole, 
That  never  set  to  us,  here  scarcely  rose, 
But  in  thc-ir  stead,  Orion  through  the  north 
Pursued  the  Pleiads ;  Sirius,  with  his  keen, 
Quick  scintillations,  in  the  zenith  reign'd. 
The  south  unveil'd  its  glories ; — there  the  Wolf, 
With  eyes  of  lightning,  watch'd  the  Centaur's  spear 
Through  the  clear  hyaline,  the  Ship  of  Heaven 
Came  sailing  from  eternity ;  the  Dove, 
On  silver  pinions,  wing'd  her  peaceful  way  ; 
There,  at  the  footstool  of  JEHOVAH'S  throne, 
The  Altar,  kindled  from  His  presence,  blazed ; 
There,  too,  all  else  excelling,  meekly  shone 
The  Cross,  the  symbol  of  redeeming  love : 
The  Heavens  declared  the  glory  of  the  LORD, 
The  firmament  display'd  his  handiwork. 

23* 


»TO  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 


With  scarce  inferior  lustre  gleam'd  the  sea, 
Whose  waves  were  spangled  with  phosphoric  fire, 
As  though  the  lightnings  there  had  spent  their  shafts, 
And  left  the  fragments  glittering  on  the  field. 

Next  morn,  in  mockery  of  a  storm,  the  breeze 
And  waters  skirmish'd ;  bubble-armies  fought 
Millions  of  battles  on  the  crested  surges. 
And  where  they  fell,  all  cover'd  with  their  glory, 
Traced,  in  white  foam  on  the  cerulean  main, 
Paths,  like  the  milky-way  among  the  stars. 
Charm'd  with  the  spectacle,  yet  deeply  touch'd 
With  a  forlorn  and  not  untender  feeling — 
"  Why,"  said  my  thoughts  within  me,  "  why  this  waste 
Of  loveliness  and  grandeur  unenjoy'd  ? 
Is  there  no  life  throughout  this  fair  existence  ? 
Sky,  sun,  and  sea,  the  moon,  the  stars,  the  clouds, 
Wind,  lightning,  thunder,  are  but  ministers  ; 
They  know  not  what  they  are,  nor  what  they  do : 
Oh  for  the  beings  for  whom  these  were  made  !" 

Light  as  a  flake  of  foam  upon  the  wind, 
Keel  upward  from  the  deep  emerged  a  shell, 
Shaped  like  the  moon  ere  half  her  horn  is  filled ; 
Fraught  with  young  life,  it  righted  as  it  rose, 
And  moved  at  will  along  the  yielding  water. 
The  native  pilot  of  this  little  bark 
Put  out  a  tier  of  oars  on  either  side, 
Spread  to  the  wafting  breeze  a  twofold  sail, 
And  mounted  up  and  glided  down  the  billow 
In  happy  freedom,  pleased  to  feel  the  air, 
And  wander  in  the  luxury  of  light. 
Worth  all  the  dead  creation  in  that  hour, 
To  me  appeared  this  lonely  Nautilus, 
My  fellow-being,  like  myself  alive. 
Entranced  in  contemplation  vague  yet  sweet, 
I  watch' d  its  vagrant  course  and  rippling  wake, 
Till  I  forgot  the  sun  amidst  the  heavens. 

It  closed,  sunk,  dwindled  to  a  point,  then  nothing; 
While  the  last  bubble  crown' d  the  dimpling  eddy, 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  571 

Through  which  mine  eye  still  giddily  pursued  it, 
A  joyous  creature  vaulted  through  the  air, — 
The  aspiring  fish  that  fain  would  be  a  bird, 
On  long,  light  wings,  that  flung  a  diamond  shower 
Of  dew-drops  round  its  evanescent  form, 
Sprang  into  light,  and  instantly  descended. 
Ere  I  could  greet  the  stranger  as  a  friend, 
Or  mourn  his  quick  departure, — on  the  surge, 
A  shoal  of  Dolphins,  tumbling  in  wild  glee, 
Glow'd  with  such  orient  tints,  they  might  have  beep 
The  rainbow's  offspring,  when  it  met  the  ocean 
In  that  resplendent  vision  I  had  seen. 
While  yet  in  ecstasy  I  hung  o'er  these, 
With  every  motion  pouring  out  fresh  beauties, 
As  though  the  conscious  colours  came  and  went 
At  pleasure,  glorying  in  their  subtle  changes, —  ' 
Enormous  o'er  the  flood,  Leviathan 
Look'd  forth,  and  from  his  roaring  nostrils  sent 
Two  fountains  to  the  sky,  then  plunged  amain 
In  headlong  pastime  through  the  closing  gulf. 

These  were  but  preludes  to  the  revelry 
That  reign'd  at  sunset :  then  the  deep  let  loose 
Its  blithe  adventurers  to  sport  at  large, 
As  kindly  instinct  taught  them  ;  buoyant  shells, 
On  stormless  voyages,  in  fleets  or  single, 
Wherried  their  tiny  mariners  ;  aloof, 
On  wing-like  fins,  in  bow-and-arrow  figures, 
The  flying  fishes  darted  to  and  fro ; 
While  spouting  Whales  projected  watery  columns, 
That  turn'd  to  arches  at  their  height,  and  seem'd 
The  skeletons  of  crystal  palaces, 
Built  on  the  blue  expanse,  then  perishing, 
Frail  as  the  element  which  they  were  made  of: 
Dolphins,  in  gambols,  lent  the  lucid  brine 
Hues  richer  than  the  canopy  of  eve, 
That  overhung  the  scene  with  gorgeous  clouds, 
Decaying  into  gloom  more  beautiful 
Than  the  sun's  golden  liveries  which  they  lost : 


«73  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Till  light  that  hides,  and  darkness  that  reveals 
The  stars, — exchanging  guard,  like  sentinels 
Of  day  and  night, — transform'd  the  face  of  nature 
Above  was  wakefulness,  silence  around, 
Beneath  repose, — repose  that  reach'd  even  me. 
Power,  will,  sensation,  memory,  fail'd  in  turn ; 
My  very  essence  seem'd  to  pass  away, 
Like  a  thin  cloud  that  melts  across  the  moon, 
Lost  in  the  blue  immensity  of  heaven. 


CANTO  SECOND. 

LIFE'S  intermitting  pulse  again  went  on : 

I  woke  amidst  the  beauty  of  a  morn, 

That  shone  as  bright  within  me  as  around. 

The  presence-chamber  of  the  soul  was  full 

Of  flitting  images  and  rapturous  thoughts ; 

For  mind  and  eye  were  open'd  to  explore 

The  secrets  of  the  abyss  erewhile  conceal'd. 

The  floor  of  ocean,  never  trod  by  man, 

Was  visible  to  me  as  heaven's  round  roof, 

Which  man  hath  never  touch'd ;  the  multitude 

Of  living  things  in  that  new  hemisphere, 

Gleam'd  out  of  darkness,  like  the  stars  at  midnight, 

When  moon  nor  clouds,  with  light  or  shade,  obscure  them. 

For,  as  in  hollows  of  the  tide-worn  reef, 

Left  at  low  water  glistening  in  the  sun, 

Pellucid  pools  and  rocks  in  miniature, 

With  their  small  fry  of  fishes,  crusted  shells, 

Rich  mosses,  tree-like  sea-weed,  sparkling  pebbles, 

Enchant  the  eye,  and  tempt  the  eager  hand 

To  violate  the  fairy  paradise, 

— So  to  my  view  the  deep  disclosed  its  wonders. 

In  the  free  element  beneath  me  swam, 
Flounder'd,  and  dived,  in  play,  in  chase,  in  battle, 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  873 

Fishes  of  every  colour,  form,  and  kind, 
(Strange  forms,  resplendent  colours,  kinds  unnumber'd,) 
Which  language  cannot  paint,  and  mariner 
Hath  never  seen ;  from  dread  Leviathan 
To  insect  millions  peopling  every  wave  ; 
And  nameless  tribes,  half-plant,  half-animal, 
Rooted  and  shimbering  through  a  dream  of  life. 
The  livelier  inmates  to  the  surface  sprang, 
To  taste  the  freshness  of  heaven's  breath,  and  feel 
That  light  is  pleasant,  and  the  sunbeam  warm. 
Most  in  the  middle  region  sought  their  prey, 
Safety,  or  pastime  ;  solitary  some, 
And  some  in  pairs  affectionately  join'd  ; 
Others  in  shoals  immense,  like  floating  islands, 
Led  by  mysterious  instinct  through  that  waste 
And  trackless  region,  though  on  every  side 
Assaulted  by  voracious  enemies, 

— Whales,  sharks,  and  monsters,  arm'd  in  front  or  jaw, 
With  swords,  saws,  spiral  horns,  or  hooked  fangs. 
While  ravening  Death  of  slaughter  ne'er  grew  weary, 
Life  multiplied  the  immortal  meal  as  fast. 
War,  reckless,  universal  war,  prevail'd ; 
All  were  devourers,  all  in  turn  devour'd  ; 
Yet  every  unit  in  the  uncounted  sum 
Of  victims  had  its  share  of  bliss,  its  pang, 
And  but  a  pang,  of  dissolution ;  each 
Was  happy  till  its  moment  came,  and  then 
Its  first,  last  suffering,  unforeseen,  unfear'd, 
Closed,  with  one  struggle,  pain  and  life  for  ever. 
So  He  ordain'd,  whose  way  is  in  the  sea, 
His  path  amidst  great  waters,  and  his  steps 
Unknown ; — whose  judgments  are  a  mighty  deep, 
Where  plummet  of  Archangel's  intellect 
Could  never  yet  find  soundings,  but  from  age 
To  ago  let  down,  drawn  up,  then  thrown  again, 
With  lengthen'd  line  and  added  weight,  still  fails ; 
And  still  the  cry  in  Heaven  is,  "  Oh  the  depth !" 
Thus,  while  bewilder'd  with  delight  I  gazed 


*74  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

On  life  in  every  shape  it  here  assumed, 

Congenial  feeling  made  me  follow  it, 

And  try  to  be  whatever  I  beheld  ; 

By  mental  transmigration  thus  I  pass'd 

Through  many  a  body,  and  in  each  essay'd 

New  instincts,  powers,  enjoyments,  death  itself; 

Till,  weary  with  the  fanciful  pursuit, 

I  started  from  that  idle  reverie. 

Then  grew  my  heart  more  desolate  than  ever ; 

Here  had  I  found  the  beings  which  I  sought, 

— Beings  for  whom  the  universe  was  made, 

Yet  none  of  kindred  with  myself.     In  vain 

I  strove  to  waken  sympathy  in  breasts 

Cold  as  the  element  in  which  they  moved, 

And  inaccessible  to  fellowship 

With  me,  as  sun  and  stars,  as  winds  and  vapours . 

Sense  had  they,  but  no  more ;  mind  was  not  there. 

They  roam'd,  they  fed,  they  slept,  they  died,  and  left 

Race  after  race,  to  roam,  feed,  sleep,  then  die, 

And  leave  their  like  through  endless  generations  ; 

— Incessant  change  of  actors,  none  of  scene, 

Through  all  that  boundless  theatre  of  strife  ! 

Shrinking  into  myself  again,  I  cried, 

In  bitter  disappointment, — "  Is  this  all  ?" 

I  sent  a  glance  at  random  from  the  cloud, 
In  which  I  then  lay  floating  through  mid-heaven, 
To  ocean's  innermost  recess  ; — when,  lo  ! 
Another  seal  of  Nature's  book  was  open'd, 
Which  held  transported  thought  so  deep  entranced, 
That  Time,  though  borne  through  mightiest  revolutions, 
Seem'd,  like  the  earth  in  motion,  to  stand  still. 
The  works  of  ages  grew  beneath  mine  eye  ; 
As  rapid  intellect  calls  up  events, 
Combines,  compresses,  moulds  them,  with  such  power, 
That,  in  a  little  page  of  memory, 
An  empire's  annals  lie, — a  nation's  fortunes 
Pass  in  review,  as  motes  through  sunbeams  pass 
Glistening  and  vanishing  in  quick  succession, 


THK    PELICAN    ISLAND.  J75 

Yet  each  distinct  as  though  there  were  but  one ; 

— So  thrice  a  thousand  years,  \vith  all  their  issues, 

Hurried  before  me,  through  a  gleam  of  Time, 

Between  the  clouds  of  two  eternities, — 

That  whence  they  came,  and  that  to  which  they  tended. 

Immeasurable  continents  beneath 
The  expanse  of  animated  waters  lay, 
Not  strown, — as  I  have  since  discern'd  the  tracks 
Of  voyagers, — with  shipwrecks  and  their  spoils, 
The  wealth  of  merchants,  the  artillery 
Of  war,  the  chains  of  captives,  and  the  gems 
That  glow'd  upon  the  brow  of  beauty  ;  crowns 
Of  monarchs,  swords  of  heroes,  anchors  lost, 
That  never  had  let  go  their  hold  in  storms  ; 
Helms,  sunk  in  ports,  that  steer'd  adventurous  barks 
Round  the  wide  world ;  bones  of  dead  men,  that  made 
A  hidden  Golgotha  where  they  had  fallen. 
Unseen,  unsepulchred,  but  not  unwept 
By  lover,  friend,  relation,  far  away, 
Long  waiting  their  return  to  home  and  country, 
And  going  down  into  their  fathers'  graves 
With  their  gray  hairs  or  youthful  locks  in  sorrow, 
To  meet  no  more  till  seas  give  up  their  dead  : 
Some  too — ay  thousands — whom  none  living  mourn'd, 
None  miss'd, — waifs  in  the  universe,  the  last, 
Lorn  links  of  kindred  chains  for  ever  sunder'd. 

Not  such  the  spectacle  I  now  survey'd  : 
No  broken  hearts  lay  here  ;  no  aching  heads, 
For  whose  vast  schemes  the  world  was  once  too  small, 
And  life  too  short,  in  Death's  dark  lap  found  rest 
Beneath  the  unresting  wave  ; — but  skeletons 
Of  whales  and  krakens  here  and  there  were  scattor'd, 
The  prey  when  dead  of  tribes,  their  prey  when  living: 
And,  seen  by  glimpses,  but  awakening  thoughts 
Too  sad  for  utterance, — relics  huge  and  strange 
Of  the  old  world  that  perish'd  by  the  flood, 
Kept  under  chains  of  darkness  till  the  judgment. 
— Save  these,  lay  ocean's  bed,  as  from  the  hand 


L_ 


«73  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 


Of  its  Creator,  hollow'd  and  prepared 
For  his  unfathomable  counsels  there, 
To  work  slow  miracles  of  power  divine, 
From  century  to  century, — nor  less 
Incomprehensible  than  heaven  and  earth 
Form'd  in  six  days"  by  His  commanding  word. 
With  GOD  a  thousand  years  are  as  one  day ; 
He  in  one  day  can  sum  a  thousand  years : 
All  acts  with  Him  are  equal ;  for  no  more 
It  costs  Omnipotence  to  build  a  world, 
And  set  a  sun  amidst  the  firmament, 
Than  mould  a  dew-drop,  and  light  up  its  gem. 

This  was  the  landscape  stretch'd  beneath  the  flood : 
— Rocks,  branching  out  like  chains  of  Alpine  mountains ; 
Gulfs  intervening,  sandy  wildernesses, 
Forests  of  growth  enormous,  caverns,  shoals  : 
Fountains  upspringing,  hot  and  cold,  and  fresh 
And  bitter,  as  on  land ;  volcanic  fires 
Fiercely  out-flashing  from  earth's  central  heart, 
Nor  soon  extinguish'd  by  the  rush  of  waters 
Down  the  rent  crater  to  the  unknown  abyss 
Of  Nature's  laboratory,  where  she  hides 
Her  deeds  from  every  eye  except  her  Maker's : 
— Such  were  the  scenes  which  ocean  open'd  to  me ; 
Mysterious  regions,  the  recluse  abode  . 
Of  unapproachable  inhabitants, 
That  dwelt  in  everlasting  darkness  there. 
Unheard  by  them  the  roaring  of  the  wind, 
The  elastic  motion  of  the  wave  unfelt ; 
Still  life  was  theirs,  well  pleasing  to  themselves, 
Nor  yet  unuseful,  as  my  song  shall  show. 

Here,  on  a  stony  eminence,  that  stood, 
Girt  with  inferior  ridges,  at  the  point, 
Where  light  and  darkness  meet  in  spectral  gloom, 
Midway  between  the  height  and  depth  of  ocean," 
I  maik'd  a  whirlpool  in  perpetual  play, 
As  though  the  mountain  were  itself  alive, 
And  catching  prey  on  every  side,  with  feelers 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND  OT 

Countless  as  sunbeams,  slight  as  gossamer ; 

Ere  long  transfigured,  each  fine  film  became 

An  independent  creature,  self-employ'd, 

Yet  but  an  agent  in  one  common  work, 

The  sum  of  all  their  individual  labours. 

Shapeless  they  seem'd,  but  endless  shapes  assumed  ; 

Elongated  like  worms,  they  writhed  and  shrunk 

Their  tortuous  bodies  to  grotesque  dimensions  ; 

Compress'd  like  wedges,  radiated  like  stars, 

Branching  like  sea-weed,  whirl'd  in  dazzling  rings; 

Subtle  and  variable  as  flickering  flames, 

Sight  could  not  trace  their  evanescent  changes, 

Nor  comprehend  their  motions,  till  minute 

And  curious  observations  caught  the  clew    • 

To  this  live  labyrinth, — where  every  one, 

By  instinct  taught,  perform'd  its  little  task ; 

— To  build  its  dwelling  and  its  sepulchre, 

From  its  own  essence  exquisitely  modell'd  ; 

There  breed,  and  die,  and  leave  a  progeny, 

Still  multiplied  beyond  the  reach  of  numbers, 

To  frame  new  cells  and  tombs  ;  then  breed  and  die 

As  all  their  ancestors  had  done, — and  rest, 

Hermetically  seal'd,  each  in  its  shrine, 

A  statue  in  this  temple  of  oblivion  ! 

Millions  of  millions  thus,  from  age  to  age, 

With  simplest  skill,  and  toil  unweariable, 

No  moment  and  no  movement  unimproved, 

Laid  line  on  line,  on  terrace  terrace  spread, 

To  swell  the  heightening,  brightening  gradual  mound, 

By  marvellous  structure  climbing  tow'rds  the  day. 

Each  wrought  alone,  yet  all  together  wrought, 

Unconscious,  not  unworthy  instruments, 

By  which  a  hand  invisible  was  rearing 

A  new  creation  in  the  secret  deep. 

Omnipotence  wrought  in  them,  with  them,  by  them ; 

Hence  what  Omnipotence  alone  could  do 

Worms  did.     I  saw  the  living  pile  ascend, 

The  mausoleum  of  its  architects, 

«OL.  L  24 


478  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Still  dying  upwards  as  their  labours  closed  : 

Slime  the  material,  but  the  slime  was  turn'd 

To  adamant,  by  their  petrific  touch  ; 

Frail  were  their  frames,  ephemeral  their  lives, 

Their  masonry  imperishable.     All 

Life's  needful  functions,  food,  exertion,  rest 

By  nice  economy  of  Providence 

Were  overruled  to  carry  on  the  process, 

Which  out  of  water  brought  forth  solid  rock. 

Atom  by  atom  thus  the  burden  grew, 
Even  like  an  infant  in  the  womb,  till  Time 
Deliver  d  ocean  of  that  monstrous  birth, 
— A  coral  island,  stretching  east  and  west, 
In  GOD'S  own  language  to  its  parent  saying, 
"  Thus  far,  nor  farther,  shall  thou  go  ;  and  here 
Shall  thy  proud  waves  be  stay'd  :" — A  point  at  first 
It  peer'd  above  those  waves  ;  a  point  so  small, 
I  just  perceived  it,  fix'd  where  all  was  floating ; 
And  when  a  bubble  cross'd  it,  the  blue  film 
Expanded  like  a  sky  above  the  speck ; 
That  speck  became  a  hand-breadth ;  day  and  night 
It  spread,  accumulated,  and  ere  long 
Presented  to  my  view  a  dazzling  plain, 
White  as  the  moon  amid  the  sapphire  sea ; 
Bare  at  low  water,  and  as  still  as  death, 
But  when  the  tide  came  gurgling  o'er  the  surface, 
'Twas  like  a  resurrection  of  the  dead : 
From  graves  innumerable,  punctures  fine 
In  the  close  coral,  capillary  swarms 
Of  reptiles,  horrent  as  Medusa's  snakes, 
Cover'd  the  bald-pate  reef;  then  all  was  life,      * 
And  indefatigable  industry; 
The  artisans  were  twisting  to  and  fro, 
In  idle-seeming  convolutions  ;  yet 
They  never  vanish'd  with  the  ebbing  surge, 
Till  pellicle  on  pellicle,  and  layer 
On  layer,  was  added  to  the  growing  mass. 
Ere  long  the  reef  o'ertopt  the  spring-flood's  height, 


THE   PELICAN    ISLAND. 


And  mock'd  the  billows  when  they  leapt  upon  it, 
Unable  to  maintain  their  slippery  hold, 
And  falling  down  in  foam-wreaths  round  its  verge. 
Steep  were  the  flanks,  with  precipices  sharp, 
Descending  to  their  base  in  ocean-gloom. 
Chasms  few,  and  narrow,  and  irregular, 
Form'd  harbours,  safe  at  once  and  perilous,  — 
Safe  for  defence,  but  perilous  to  enter. 
A  sea-lake  shone  amid  the  fossil  isle, 
Reflecting  in  a  ring  its  cliffs  and  Caverns, 
With  heaven  itself  seen  like  a  lake  below. 

Compared  with  this  amazing  edifice, 
Raised  by  the  weakest  creatures  in  existence, 
What  are  the  works  of  intellectual  man  ? 
Towers,  temples,  palaces,  and  sepulchres  ; 
Ideal  images  in  sculptured  forms, 
Thoughts  hewn  in  columns,  or  in  domes  expanded, 
Fancies  through  every  maze  of  beauty  shown  ; 
Pride,  gratitude,  affection,  turn'd  to  marble, 
In  honour  of  the  living  or  the  dead  ; 
What  are  they  ?  —  fine-wrought  miniatures  of  art, 
Too  exquisite  to  bear  the  weight  of  dew, 
Which  every  morn  lets  fall  in  pearls  upon  them, 
Till  all  their  pomp  sinks  down  in  mouldering  relics, 
Yet  in  their  ruin  lovelier  than  their  prime  ! 

—  Dust  in  the  balance,  atoms  in  the  gale, 
Compared  with  these  achievements  in  the  deep, 
Were  all  the  monuments  of  olden  time, 

In  days  when  there  were  giants  on  the  earth  : 

—  Babel's  stupendous  folly,  though  it  aim'd  . 
To  scale  heaven's  battlements,  was  but  a  toy, 
The  plaything  of  the  world  in  infancy  :  — 
The  ramparts,  towers,  and  gates  of  Babylon, 
Built  for  eternity,  —  though,  where  they  stood, 
Ruin  itself  stands  still  for  lack  of  work, 

And  Desolation  keeps  unbroken  sabbath  ;  — 
Great  Babylon,  in  its  full  moon  of  empire, 
Even  when  its  "  head  of  gold"  was  smitten  off", 


«80  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

And  from  a  monarch  changed  into  a  brute  ; — 

Great  Babylon  was  like  a  wreath  of  sand, 

Left  by  one  tide,  and  cancell'd  by  the  next : — 

Egypt's  dread  wonders,  still  defying  Time, 

Where  cities  have  been  crumbled  into  sand. 

Scatter'd  by  winds  beyond  the  Libyan  desert, 

Or  melted  down  into  the  mud  of  Nile, 

And  cast  in  tillage  o'er  the  corn-sown  fields, 

Where  Memphis  flourished,  and  the  Pharaohs  reign  d  ;— 

Egypt's  gray  piles  of  hieroglyphic  grandeur, 

That  have  survived  the  language  which  they  speak, 

Preserving  its  dead  emblems  to  the  eye, 

Yet  hiding  from  the  mind  what  these  reveal ; 

—Her  pyramids  would  be  mere  pinnacles, 

Her  giant  statues,  wrought  from  blocks  of  granite, 

But  puny  ornaments  for  such  a  pile 

As  this  stupendous  mound  of  catacombs, 

FilPd  with  dry  mummies  of  the  builder-worms. 

Thus  far,  with  undiverted  thought,  and  eye 
Intensely  fix'd  on  ocean's  concave  mirror, 
I  watch'd  the  process  to  its  finishing  stroke : 
Then  starting  suddenly,  as  from  a  trance, 
Once  more  to  look  upon  the  blessed  sun, 
And  breathe  the  gladdening  influence  of  the  wind, 
Darkness  fell  on  me  ;  giddily  my  brain 
Whirl'd  like  a  torch  of  fire  that  seems  a  circle, 
And  soon  to  me  the  universe  was  nothing. 


THE   PELICAN    ISLAND.  *81 


CANTO  THIRD. 

NINE  times  the  age  of  man  that  coral  reef 

Had  bleach'd  beneath  the  torrid  noon,  and  borne 

The  thunder  of  a  thousand  hurricanes, 

Raised  by  the  jealous  ocean,  to  repel 

That  strange  encroachment  on  his  old  domain. 

His  rage  was  impotent ;  his  wrath  fulfill'd 

The  counsels  of  eternal  Providence, 

And  'stablish'd  what  he  strove  to  overturn : 

For  every  tempest  threw  fresh  wrecks  upon  it ; 

Sand  from  the  shoals,  exuvioB  from  the  deep, 

Fragments  of  shells,  dead  sloughs,  sea-monsters'  bones, 

Whales  stranded  in  the  shallows,  hideous  weeds 

HurPd  out  of  darkness  by  the  uprooting  surges ; 

These,  with  unutterable  relics  more, 

Heap'd  the  rough  surface,  till  the  various  mass, 

By  Nature's  chemistry  combined  and  purged, 

Had  buried  the  bare  rock  in  crumbling  mould, 

Not  unproductive,  but  from  time  to  time 

Impregnated  with  seeds  of  plants,  and  rife 

With  embryo  animals,  or  torpid  forms 

Of  reptiles,  shrouded  in  the  clefts  of  trees, 

From  distant  lands,  with  branches,  foliage,  fruit, 

Pluck'd  up  and  wafted  hither  by  the  flood. 

Death's  spoils,  and  life's  hid  treasures,  thus  enrich'd 

And  colonized  the  soil ;  no  particle 

Of  meanest  substance  but  in  course  was  turned 

To  solid  use  or  noble  ornament. 

All  seasons  were  propitious  ;  every  wind, 

From  the  hot  Siroc  to  the  wet  Monsoon, 

Temper'd  the  crude  materials ;  while  heaven's  dew 

Fell  on  the  sterile  wilderness  as  sweetly 

As  though  it  were  a  garden  of  the  LORD  ; 

Nor  fell  in  vain  ;  each  drop  had  its  commission. 

And  did  its  duty,  known  to  Him  who  sent  it. 

24* 


»3J  THE   PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Such  time  had  past,  such  changes  had  transfigured 
The  aspect  of  that  solitary  isle, 
When  I  again  in  spirit,  as  before, 
Assumed  mute  watch  above  it      Slender  blades 
Of  grass  were  shooting  through  the  dark  brown  earth; 
Like  rays  of  light,  transparent  in  the  sun, 
Or  after  showers  with  liquid  gems  illumined ; 
Fountains  through  filtering  sluices  sallied  forth, 
And  led  fertility  where'er  they  turn'd  ; 
Green  herbage  graced  their  banks,  resplendent  flowers 
Unlock'd  their  treasures,  and  let  flow  their  fragrance. 
Then  insect  legions,  prank'd  with  gaudiest  hues, 
Pearl,  gold,  and  purple,  swarm'd  into  existence  ; 
Minute*  and  marvellous  creations  these  ! 
Infinite  multitudes  on  every  leaf, 
In  every  drop,  by  me  discern'd  at  pleasure, 
Were  yet  too  fine  for  unenlighten'd  eye, 
— Like  stars,  whose  beams  have  never  reach'd  our  world, 
Though  science  meets  them  midway  in  the  heaven 
With  prying  optics,  weighs  them  in  her  scale, 
Measures  their  orbs,  and  calculates  their  courses  : — 
Some  barely  visible,  some  proudly  shone, 
Like  living  jewels ;  some  grotesque,  uncouth, 
And  hideous, — giants  of  a  race  of  pigmies  ; 
These  burrow'd  in  the  ground,  and  fed  on  garbage, 
Those  lived  deliciously  on  honey-dews, 
And  dwelt  in  palaces  of  blossom'd  bells ; 
Millions  on  millions,  wing'd,  and  plumed  in  front, 
And  arm'd  with  stings  for  vengeance  or  assault, 
FilPd  the  dim  atmosphere  with  hum  and  hurry ; 
Children  of  light,  and  air,  and  fire  they  seem'd, 
Their  lives  all  ecstasy  and  quick,  cross  motion. 
Thus  throve  this  embryo  universe,  where  all 
That  was  to  be  was  unbegun,  or  now 
Beginning ;  every  day,  hour,  instant,  brought 
Its  novelty,  though  how  or  whence  I  knew  not ; 
Less  than  omniscience  could  not  comprehend 
The  causes  of  effects  that  seem'd  spontaneous, 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  S83 

And  sprang  in  infinite  succession,  link'd 

With  kindred  issues  infinite  as  they,     .   . 

For  which  almighty  skill  had  laid  the  train 

Even  in  the  elements  of  chaos, — whence 

The  unravelling  clew  not  for  a  moment  lost 

Hold  of  the  silent  hand  that  drew  it  out. 

Thus  He  who  makes  and  peoples  worlds  still  works 

In  secrecy,  behind  a  veil  of  light ; 

Yet  through  that  hiding  of  his  power,  such  glimpses 

Of  glory  break  as  strike  presumption  blind, 

But  humble  and  exalt  the  humbled  soul, 

Whose  faith  the  things  invisible  discerns, 

And  GOD  informing,  guiding,  ruling  all : — 

He  speaks,  'tis  done ;  commands,  and  it  stands  fast. 

He  calls  an  island  from  the  deep, — it  comes ; 

Ordains  it  culture, — soil  and  seed  are  there  ; 

Appoints  inhabitants, — from  climes  unknown, 

By  undiscoverable  paths,  they  flock 

Thither ; — like  passage-birds  to  us  in  spring ; 

They  were  not  yesterday, — and  lo !  to-day 

They  are, — but  what  keen  eye  beheld  them  coming? 

Here  was  the  infancy  of  life,  the  age 
Of  gold  in  that  green  isle,  itself  new-born, 
And  all  upon  it  in  the  prime  of  being, 
Love,  hope,  and  promise  ;  'twas  in  miniature 
A  world  unsoil'd  by  sin ;  a  Paradise 
Where  Death  had  not  yet  entered :  Bliss  had  newly 
Alighted,  and  shut  close  his  rainbow  wings, 
To  rest  at  ease,  nor  dread  intruding  ill. 
Plants  of  superior  growth  now  sprang  apace, 
With  moon-like  blossoms  crown'd,  or  starry  glories ; 
Light,  flexile  shrubs  among  the  greenwood  play'd 
Fantastic  freaks, — they  crept,  they  climb'd,  they  budded, 
And  hung  their  flowers  and  berries  in  the  sun  ; 
As  the  breeze  taught,  they  danced,  they  sung,  they  twined 
Their  sprays  in  bowers,  or  spread  the  ground  with  network. 
Through  the  slow  lapse  of  undivided  time, 
Silently  rising  from  their  buried  germs, 


284  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Trees  lifted  to  the  skies  their  stately  heads, 

Tufted  with  verdure,  like  depending  plumage, 

O'er  stems  unknotted,  waving  to  the  wind : 

Of  these  in  graceful  form,  and  simple  beauty, 

The  fruitful  cocoa  and  the  fragrant  palm 

Excell'd  the  wilding  daughters  of  the  wood, 

That  stretch'd  unwieldy  their  enormous  arms, 

Clad  with  luxuriant  foliage,  from  the  trunk, 

Like  the  old  eagle,  feather'd  to  the  heel ; 

While  every  fibre,  from  the  lowest  root 

To  the  last  leaf  upon  the  topmost  twig, 

Was  held  by  common  sympathy,  diffusing 

Through  all  the  complex  frame  unconscious  life. 

Such  was  the  locust,  with  his  hydra  boughs, 

A  hundred  heads  on  one  stupendous  trunk ; 

And  such  the  mangrove,  which,  at  full-moon  flood, 

'Appear'd  itself  a  wood  upon  the  waters, 

T3ut  when  the  tide  left  bare  its  upright  roots, 

A  wood  on  piles  suspended  in  the  air ; 

Such  too  the  Indian  fig,  that  built  itself 

Into  a  sylvan  temple,  arch'd  aloof 

With  airy  aisles  and  living  colonnades, 

Where  nations  might  have  worshipp'd  GOD  iri  peace. 

From  year  to  year  their  fruits  ungather'd  fell ; 

Not  lost,  but  quickening  where  they  lay,  they  struck 

Root  downward,  and  brake  forth  on  -every  hand, 

Till  the  strong  saplings,  rank  and  file,  stood  up, 

A  mighty  army,  which  o'erran  the  isle, 

And  changed  the  wilderness  into  a  forest. 

All  this  appear'd  accomplish'd  in  the  space 
Between  the  morning  and  the  evening  star : 
So,  in  his  third  day's  work,  JEHOVAH  spake, 
And  Earth,  an  infant,  naked  as  she  came 
Out  of  the  womb  of  chaos,  straight  put  on 
Her  beautiful  attire,  and  deck'd  her  robe 
Of  verdure  with  ten  thousand  glorious  flowers, 
Exhaling  incense  ;  crown'd  her  mountain-heads 
With  cedars,  train'd  her  vines  around  their  girdles, 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  585 

And  pour'd  spontaneous  harvests  at  their  feet. 

Nor  were  those  woods  without  inhabitants 
Besides  the  ephemera  of  earth  and  air  ; 
— Where  glid  the  sunbeams  through  the  latticed  boughs, 
And  fell  like  dew-drops  on  the  spangled  ground, 
To  light  the  diamond  beetle  on  his  way ; 
— Where  cheerful  openings  let  the  sky  look  down 
Into  the  very  heart  of  solitude, 
On  little  garden-plots  of  social  flowers, 
That  crowded  from  the  shades  to  peep  at  daylight ; 
•—Or  where  impermeable  foliage  .made 
Midnight  at  noon,  and  chill,  damp  horror  reign'd 
O'er  dead,  fall'n  leaves  and  slimy  funguses ; 
— Reptiles  were  quicken'd  into  various  birth. 
Loathsome,  unsightly,  swoln  to  obscene  bulk, 
Lurk'd  the  dark  toad  beneath  the  infected  turf; 
The  slow-worm  crawl'd,  the  light  cameleon  climb'd, 
And  changed  his  colour  as  his  place  he  changed ; 
The  nimble  lizard  ran  from  bough  to  bough, 
Glancing  through  light,  in  shadow  disappearing ; 
The  scorpion,  many-eyed,  with  sting  of  fire, 
Bred  there, — the  legion-fiend  of  creeping  things, 
Terribly  beautiful,  the  serpent  lay, 
Wreath'd  like  a  coronet  of  gold  and  jewels, 
Fit  for  a  tyrant's  brow;  anon  he  flew 
Straight  as  an  arrow  shot  from  his  own  rings, 
And  struck  his  victim,  shrieking  ere  it  went 
Down  his  strain'd  throat,  that  open  sepulchre. 

Amphibious  monsters  haunted  the  lagoon  ; 
The  hippopotamus,  amidst  the  flood, 
Flexile  and  active  as  the^mallest  swimmer; 
But  on  the  bunk,  ill-balanced  and  infirm, 
He  grazed  the  herbage,  with  huge  head  declined, 
Or  K-an'd  to  rest  against  some  ancient  tree. 
The  crocodile,  the  dragon  of  the  waters, 
In  iron  panoply,  fell  as  the  plague, 
And  merciless  as  famine,  cranch'd  his  prey, 
While  from  his  jaws,  with  dreadful  fnngs  all  serried, 


886  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

The  life-blood  dyed  the  waves  with  deadly  streams. 
The  seal  and  the  sea-lion,  from  the  gulf, 
Came  forth,  and  couching  with  their  little  ones, 
Slept  on  the  shelving  rocks  that  girt  the  shore, 
Securing  prompt  retreat  from  sudden  ^danger: 
The  pregnant  turtle,  stealing  out  at  eve, 
With  anxious  eye,  and  trembling  heart,  explored 
The  loneliest  coves,  and  in  the  loose,  warm  sand 
Deposited  her  eggs,  which  the  sun  hatch'd  :          9 
Hence  the  young  brood,  that  never  knew  a  parent,  * 
Unburrow'd  and  by  instinct  sought  the  sea ; 
Nature  herself,  with  her  own  gentle  hand, 
Dropping  them  one  by  one  into  the  flood, 
And  laughing  to  behold  their  antic  joy, 
AVhen  launch  d  in  their  maternal  element. 

The  vision  of  that  brooding  world  went  on ; 
Millions  of  beings  yet  more  admirable 
Than  all  that  went  before  them  now  appear'd ; 
Flocking  from  every  point  of  heaven,  and  rilling 
Eye,  ear,  and  mind  with  objects,  sounds,  emotions 
Akin  to  livelier  sympathy  and  love 
Than  reptiles,  fishes,  insects,  could  inspire. 
— Birds,  the  free  tenants  of  land,  air,  and  ocean, 
Their  forms  all  symmetry,  their  motions  grace ; 
In  plumage,  delicate  and  beautiful, 
Thick  without  burden,  close  as  fishes'  scales, 
Or  loose  as  full-blown  poppies  to  the  breeze  ; 
With  wings  that  might  have  had  a  soul  within  them, 
They  bore  their  owners  by  such  sweet  enchantment ; 
— Birds,  small  and  great,  of  endless  shapes  and  colours, 
Here  flew  and  perch'd,  there  swam  and  dived  at  pleasure 
Watchful  and  agile,  uttering  voices  wild 
And  harsh,  yet  in  accordance  with  the  waves 
Upon  the  beach,  the  winds  in  caverns  moaning, 
Or  winds  and  waves  abroad  upon  the  water. 
Some  sought  their  food  among  the  finny  shoals, 
Swift  darting  from  the  clouds,  emerging  soon 
With  slender  captives  glittering  in  their  beaks ; 


THE   PELICAN    ISLAND.  W7 


These  in  recesses  of  steep  crags  constructed 

Their  eyries  inaccessible,  and  train'd 

rl  neir  hardy  broods  to  forage  in  all  weathers ; 

Guiers,  more  gorgeously  apparell'd,  dwelt 

Aiaong  the  woods,  on  Nature's  dainties  feeding, 

Heibs,  seeds,  and  roots  ;  or,  ever  on  the  wing, 

Puisuing  insects  through  the  boundless  air; 

In  hollow  trees  or  thickets  these  conceal 'd 

Their  •cquisitely  woven  nests  ;  where  lay 

Their  callow  offspring,  quiet  as  the  down 

On  tneir  own  breasts,  till  from  her  search  the  dam 

With  laden  bill  return'd,  and  shared  the  meal 

Among  her  clamorous  suppliants,  all  agape  ; 

Then,  cowering  o'er  them  with  expanded  wings, 

She  felt  how  swrvt  it  is  to  be  a  mother. 

Of  these,  a  few,  with  melody  untaught, 

Turn'd  all  the  an  to  music  within  hearing, 

Themselves  unseen ;  while  bolder  quiristers 

On  loftiest  branches  strain'd  their  clarion-pipes, 

And  made  the  forest  echo  to  their  screams 

Discordant, — yet  there  was  no  discord  there, 

But  temper'd  harmony  ;  all  tones  combining, 

In  the  rich  confluence  often  thousand  tongues, 

To  tell  of  joy  and  to  inspire  it.     Who 

Could  hear  such  concert,  and  not  join  in  chorus  ? 

Not  I ; — sometimes  entranced,  I  seem'd  to  float 

Upon  a  buoyant  sea  of  sounds  ;  again 

With  curious  ear  I  tried  to  disentangle 

The  maze  of  voices,  and  with  eye  as  nice 

To  single  out  each  minstrel,  and  pursue 

His  little  song  through  all  its  labyrinth, 

Till  my  soul  enter'd  into  him,  and  felt 

Every  vibration  of  his  thrilling  throat, 

Pulse  of  his  heart,  and  flutter  of  his  pinions. 

Often,  as  one  among  the  multitude, 

I  sang  from  very  fulness  of  delight ; 

Now  like  a  winged  fisher  of  the  sea, 

Now  a  recluse  among  the  woods, — enjoying 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 


The  bliss  of  all  at  once,  or  each  in  turn. 

In  storm  and  calm,  through  every  change  of  season, 
Long  flourish'd  thus  that  era  of  our  isle  ; 
It  could  hot  last  for  ever :  mark  the  end. 

A  cloud  arose  amid  the  tranquil  heaven, 
Like  a  man's  hand,  but  held  a  hurricane 
Within  its  grasp.     Compress'd  into  a  point, 
The  tempest  struggled  to  break  loose.     No  breath 
Was  stirring,  yet  the  billows  roll'd  aloof,  » 

And  the  air  moan'd  portentously ;  ere  long 
The  sky  was  hidden,  darkness  to  be  felt 
Confounded  all  things ;  land  and  water  vanish'd, 
And  there'  was  silence  through  the  universe  ; 
Silence,  that  made  my  soul  as  desolate 
As  the  blind  solitude  around.     Methought 
That  I  had  pass'd  the  bitterness  of  death 
Without  the  agony, — had,  unaware, 
Enter'd  the  unseen  world,  and  in  the  gap 
Between  the  life  that. is  and  that  to  come, 
Awaited  judgment.     Fear  and  trembling  seized 
All  that  was  mortal  or  immortal  in  me : 
A  moment,  and  the  gates  of  Paradise 
Might  open  to  receive,  or  Hell  be  moved 
To  meet  me.     Strength  and  spirit  fail'd ; 
Eternity  enclosed  me,  and  I  knew  not, 
Knew  not,  even  then,  my  destiny.     To  doubt 
Was  to  despair ; — I  doubted  and  despair'd. 
Then  horrible  delirium  whirl'd  me  down 
To  ocean's  nethermost  recess ;  the  waves 
Disparting  freely,  let  me  fall,  and  fall, 
Lower  and  lower,  passive  as  a  stone, 
Yet  rack'd  with  miserable  pangs,  that  gave 
The  sense  of  vain  but  violent  resistance  : 
And  still  the  depths  grew  deeper ;  still  the  ground 
Receded  from  my  feet  as  I  approach'd  it. 
Oh  how  I  long'd  to  light  on  rocks,  that  sunk 
Like  quicksands  ere  I  touch'd  them ;  or  to  hide 
In  caverns  ever  open  to  ingulf  me, 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  289 

But,  like  the  horizon's  limit,  never  nearer ! 

Meanwhile  the  irrepressible  tornado 
Burst,  and  involved  the  elements  in  chaos ; 
Wind,  rain,  and  lightning,  in  one  vast  explosion, 
Rush'd  from  the  firmament  upon  the  deep. 
Heaven's  adamantine  arch  seem'd  rent  asunder, 
And  following  in  a  cataract  of  ruins 
My  swift  descent  through  bottomless  abysses, 
Where  ocean's  bed  had  been  absorb'd  in  nothing. 
I  know  no  farther.     When  again  I  saw 
The  sun,  the  sea,  the  island,  all  was  calm, 
And  all  was  desolation :  not  a  tree, 
Of  thousands  flourishing  erewhile  so  fair, 
But  now  was  split,  uprooted,  snapt  in  twain, 
Or  hurl'd  with  all  its  honours  to  the  dust. 
Heaps  upon  heaps,  the  forest  giants  lay, 
Even  like  the  slain  in  battle,  fallen  to  rise 
No  more,  till  heaven,  and  earth,  and  sea,  with  aD 
Therein,  shall  perish,  as  to  me  they  seem'd 
To  perish  in  that  ruthless  hurricane. 


CANTO  FOURTH. 

NATURE  and  Time  were  twins.     Companions  still. 

Their  unretarded,  unreturning  flight 

They  hold  together.     Time,  with  one  sole  aim, 

Looks  ever  onward,  like  the  moon  through  space 

With  beaming  forehead,  dark  and  bald  behind, 

Nor  ever  lost  a  moment  in  his  course. 

Nature  looks  all  around  her,  like  the  sun, 

And  keeps  her  works,  like  his  dependent  worlds, 

In  constant  motion.     She  hath  never  missed 

One  step  in  her  victorious  march  of  change, 

For  chance  she  knows  not ;  He  who  made  her,  gave 

roi~  i.  26 


190  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 


His  daughter  power  o'er  all  except  Himself, 
— Power  in  whate'er  she  does  to  do  his  will, 
Behold  the  true,  the  royal  law  of  Nature  ! — 
Hence  failures,  hinderances,  and  devastations 
Are  turn'd  to  trophies  of  exhaustless  skill, 
That  out  of  ruin  brings  forth  strength  and  beauty, 
Yea,  life  and  immortality  from  death. 

I  gazed  in  consternation  on  the  wreck 
Of  that  fair  island,  strown  with  prostrate  trees, 
The  soil  plough'd  up  with  horrid  inundations, 
The  surface  black  with  sea-weed,  not  a  glimpse 
Of  verdure  peeping ;  stems,  boughs,  foliage  lay 
Rent,  broken,  clotted,  perishing  in  slime. 
"  How  are  the  mightly  fallen !"  I  exclaimed  ; 
"  Surely  the  feller  hath  come  up  among  ye, 
And  with  a  stroke  invisible  hewn  down 
The  growth  of  centuries  in  one  dark  hour ! 
Is  this  the  end  of  all  perfection  ?     This 
The  abortive  issue  of  a  new  creation, 
Erewhile  so  fruitful  in  abounding  joys. 
And  hopes  fulfilling  more  than  all  they  promised  ? 
Ages  to  come  can  but  repair  this  ravage  ; 
The  past  is  lost  for  ever.     Reckless  Time 
Stays -not ;  astonied  Nature  stands  aghast, 
And  wrings  her  hands  in  silent  agony, 
Amidst  the  annihilation  of  her  works." 

Thus  raved  I ;  but  I  wrong' d  thee,  glorious  Nature  ! 
With  whom  adversity  is  but  transition. 
Thou  never  didst  despair,  wert  never  foil'd, 
Nor  weary  with  exhaustion,  since  the  day, 
When,  at  the  word,  "  Let  there  be  light,"  light  sprang, 
And  show'd  thee  rising  from  primeval  darkness, 
That  fell  back  like  a  veil  from  thy  young  form, 
And  Chaos  fled  before  the  apparition. 

While  yet  mine  eye  was  mourning  o'er  the  scene, 
Nature  and  Time  were  working  miracles  : 
The  isle  was  renovated ;  grass  and  flowers 
Crept  quietly  around  the  fallen  trees  ; 


THE   PELICAN    ISLAND.  291 

A  deeper  soil  embedded  them,  and  o'er 

The  common  sepulchre  of  ail  their  race 

Threw  a  rich  covering  of  embroider'd  turf, 

Lovely  to  look  on  as  the  tranquil  main, 

When,  in  his  noonward  track,  the  unclouded  sun 

Tints  the  green  waves  with  every  hue  of  heaven, 

More  exquisitely  brilliant  and  aerial 

Than  morn  or  evening's  gaudier  pageantry. 

Amidst  that  burial  of  the  mighty  dead, 

There  was  a  resurrection  from  the  dust 

Of  lowly  plants,  impatient  for  the  light, 

Long  interrupted  by  o'ershadowing  woods, 

While  in  the  womb  of  earth  their  embryos  tarried. 

Unfructifying,  yet  imperishable. 

Huge  remnants  of  the  forest  stood  apart, 

Like  Tadmor's  pillars  in  the  wilderness, 

Startling  the  traveller  'midst  his  thoughts  of  home  , 

— Bare  trunks  of  broken  trees,  that  gave  their  heads 

To  the  wind's  axe,  but  would  not  yield  their  roots 

To  the  uptearing  violence  of  the  floods. 

From  these  a  slender  race  of  scions  sprang, 

Which  with  their  filial  arms  embraced  and  sheltered 

The  monumental  relics  of  their  sires  ; 

But,  limited  in  "number,  scatter'd  wide, 

And  slow  of  growth,  they  overran  no  more 

The  Sun's  dominions  in  that  open  isle. 

Meanwhile  the  sea-fowl,  that  survived  the  storm, 
Whose  rage  had  fleck'd  the  waves  with  shatter'd  plumes 
And  weltering  carcasses,  the  prey  of  sharks, 
Came  from  their  fastnesses  among  the  rocks, 
And  multiplied  like  clouds  when  rains  are  brooding, 
Or  flowers,  when  clear  warm  sunshine  follows  rain. 
The  inland  birds  had  perish'd,  nor  again, 
By  airy  voyages  from  shores  unknown, 
Was  silt-rice  broken  on  the  unwooded  plains : 
Another  race  of  wing'd  inhabitants 
Ere  Iqng  possess'd  and  peopled  all  the  soil. 

The  sun  had  sunk  where  sky  and  ocean  meet, 


M2  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

And  each  might  seem  the  other ;  sky  below, 

With  richest  garniture  of  clouds  inlaid  ; 

Ocean  above  with  isles  and  continents, 

Illumined  from  a  source  no  longer  seen  : 

Far  in  the  east,  through  heaven's  intenser  blue, 

Two  brilliant  sparks,  like  sudden  stars,  appear' d. 

Not  stars,  indeed,  but  birds  of  mighty  wing, 

Retorted  neck,  and  javelin-pointed  bill, 

That  made  the  air  sigh  as  they  cut  it  through. 

They  gain'd  upon  the  eye,  and  as  they  came, 

Enlarged,  grew  brighter,  and  display'd  their  forms. 

Amidst  the  golden  evening ;  pearly  white, 

But  ruby-tinctured.     On  the  loftiest  cliff 

They  settled,  hovering  ere  they  touch'd  the  ground, 

And  uttering,  in  a  language  of  their  own, 

Yet  such  as  every  ear  might  understand, 

And  every  bosom  answer,  notes  of  joy, 

And  gratulation  for  that  resting-place. 

Stately  and  beautiful  they  stood,  and  clapt 

Their  van-broad  pinions,  streak'd  their  ruffled  plumes, 

And  ever  and  anon  broke  off  to  gaze, 

With  yearning  pleasure,  toid  in  gentle  murmurs, 

On  that  strange  land,  their  destined  home  and  country. 

Night  round  them  threw  her  brown  transparent  gloom, 

Through  which  their  lonely  images  yet  shone, 

Like  things  unearthly,  while  they  bow'd  their  heads 

On  their  full  bosoms,  and  reposed  til]  morn. 

I  knew  the  Pelicans,  and  cried — "  All  hail ! 

Ye  future  dwellers  in  the  wilderness  !" 

At  early  dawn  I  mark'd  them  in  the  sky, 
Catching  the  morning  colours  on  their  plumes  ; 
Not  in  voluptuous  pastime  revelling  there, 
Among  the  rosy  clouds,  while  orient  heaven 
Flamed  like  the  opening  gates  of  Paradise, 
Whence  issued  forth  the  Angel  of  the  sun, 
And  gladden'd  Nature  with  returning  day  : 
— Eager  for  food,  their  searching  eyes  they  fix'd 
On  ocean's  unroll'd  volume,  from  a  height 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  2«3 

That  brought  immensity  within  their  scope ; 
Yet  with  such  power  of  vision  look'd  they  down, 
As  though  they  watch'd  the  shell-fish  slowly  gliding 
O'er  sunken  rocks,  or  climbing  trees  of  coral. 
On  indefatigable  wing  upheld, 

Breath,  pulse,  existence,  seem'd  suspended  in  them ; 
They  were  as  pictures  painted  on  the  sky ; 
Till  suddenly,  aslant,  away  they  shot, 
Like  meteors  changed  from  stars  to  gleams  of  lightning, 
And  struck  upon  the  deep ;  where,  in  wild  play, 
Their  quarry  flounder'd,  unsuspecting  harm, 
With  terrible  voracity,  they  plunged 
Their  heads  amotog  the  affrighted  shoals,  and  beat 
A  tempest  on  the  surges  with  their  wings, 
Till  flashing  clouds  of  foam  and  spray  conceal' d  them. 
Nimbly  they  seized  and  secreted  their  prey, 
Alive  and  wriggling  in  the  elastic  net, 
Which  Nature  hung  beneath  their  grasping  beaks ; 
Till,  swoln  with  captures,  the  unwieldy  burden 
Clogg'd  their  slow  flight,  as  heavily  to  land 
These  mighty  hunters  of  the  deep  return'd. 
There  on  the  cragged  cliffs  they  perch'd  at  ease, 
Gorging  their  hapless  victims  one  by  one  ; 
Then  full  and  weary,  side  by  side,  they  slept, 
Till  evening  roused  them  to  the  chase  again. 
Harsh  seems  the  ordinance,  that  life  by  life 
Should  be  sustain'd,  and  yet  when  all  must  die, 
And  be  like  water  spilt  upon  the  ground, 
Which  none  can  gather  up,  the  speediest  fate, 
Though  violent  and  terrible,  is  best. 
O  with  what  horrors  would  creation  groan, — 
What  agonies  would  ever  be  before  us, 
Famine  and  pestilence,  disease,  despair, 
Anguish  and  pain  in  every  hideous  shape, 
Had  all  to  wait  the  slow  decay  of  Nature  ! 
Life  were  a  martyrdom  of  sympathy, 
Death,  lingering,  raging,  writhing,  shrieking  torture ; 
The  grave  would  be  abolished  ;  this  gay  world 

25* 


»4  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

A  valley  of  dry  bones,  a  Golgotha, 

In  which  the  living  stumbled  o'er  the  dead, 

Till  they  could  fall  no  more,  and  blind  perdition 

Swept  frail  mortality  away  for  ever. 

'Twas  wisdom,  mercy,  goodness,  that  ordain'd 

Life  in  such  infinite  profusion, — Death 

So  sure,  so  prompt,  so  multiform  to  those 

That  never  sinn'd,  that  know  not  guilt,  that  fear 

No  wrath  to  come,  and  have  no  heaven  to  lose. 

Love  found  that  lonely  couple  on  their  isle, 
And  soon  surrounded  them  with  blithe  companions. 
The  noble  birds,  with  skill  spontaneous,  framed 
A  nest  of  reeds  among  the  giant-grass, 
That  waved  in  lights  and  shadows  o'er  the  soil 
There,  in  sweet  thraldom,  yet  unweening  why, 
The  patient  dam,  who  ne'er  till  now  had  known 
Parental  instinct,  brooded  o'er  her  eggs, 
Long  ere  she  found  the  curious  secret  out, 
That  life  was  hatching  in  their  brittle  shells. 
Then,  from  a  wild  rapacious  bird  of  prey, 
Tamed  by  the  kindly  process,  she  became 
That  gentlest  of  all  living  things — a  mother ; 
Gentlest  while  yearning  o'er  her  naked  young, 
Fiercest  when  stirr'd  by  anger  to  defend  them. 
Her  mate  himself  the  softening  power  confess'd, 
Forgot  his  sloth,  restrain'd  his  appetite, 
And  ranged  the  sky  and  fish'd  the  stream  for  her ; 
Or,  when  o'erwearied  Nature  forced  her  off 
To  shake  her  torpid  feathers  in  the  breeze, 
And  bathe  her  bosom  in  the  cooling  flood, 
He  took  her  place,  and  felt  through  every  nerve, 
While  the  plump  nestlings  throbb'd  against  his  heart, 
.  The  tenderness  that  makes  the  vulture  mild ; 
Yea,  half  unwillingly  his  post  resign'd, 
When,  home-sick  with  the  absence  of  an  hour, 
She  hurried  back,  and  drove  him  from  her  seat 
With  pecking  bill,  and  cry  of  fond  distress, 
Answer' d  by  him  with  murmurs  of  delight, 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  295 


Whose  gutturals  harsh,  to  her  were  love's  o\vn  music 

Then,  settling  down,  like  foam  upon  the  wave, 

White,  flickering,  effervescent,  soon  subsiding, 

Her  ruffled  pinions  smoothly  she  composed ; 

And,  while  beneath  the  comfort  of  her  wings, 

Her  crowded  progeny  quite  fill'd  the  nest, 

The  halcyon  sleeps  not  sounder,  when  the  wind 

Is  breathless,  and  the  sea  without  a  curl, 

— Nor  dreams  the  halcyon  of  serener  days, 

Or  nights  more  beautiful  with  silent  stars, 

Than,  in  that  hour,  the  mother  Pelican, 

When  the  warm  tumults  of  affection  sunk 

Into  calm  sleep,  and  dreams  of  what  they  were, 

— Dreams  more  delicious  than  reality. 

—He  sentinel  beside  her  stood,  and  watch'd, 

With  jealous  eye,  the  raven  in  the  clouds, 

And  the  rank  sea-mews  wheeling  round  the  cliffs. 

Wo  to  the  reptile  then  that  ventured  nigh ; 

The  snap  of  his  tremendous  bill  was  like 

Death's  scythe,  down-cutting  every  thing  it  struck. 

The  heedless  lizard,  in  his  gambols,  peep'd 

Upon  the  guarded  nest,  from  out  the  flowers, 

But  paid  the  instant  forfeit  of  his  life ; 

Nor  could  the  serpent's  subtilty  elude 

Capture,  when  gliding  by,  nor  in  defence 

Might  his  malignant  fangs  and  venom  save  him. 

Erelong  the  thriving  brood  outgrew  their  cradle, 
Ran  through  the  grass,  and  dabbled  in  the  pools ; 
No  sooner  denizens  of  earth  than  made 
Free  both  of  air  and  water ;  day  by  day, 
New  lessons,  exercises,  and  amusements 
Employ'd  the  old  to  teach,  the  young  to  learn. 
Now  floating  on  the  blue  lagoon  behold  them ; 
The  Sire  and  Dam  in  swanlike  beauty  steering, 
Their  Cygnets  following  through  the  foamy  wake, 
Picking  the  leaves  of  plants,  pursuing  insects, 
Or  catching  at  the  bubbles  as  they  broke  : 
Till  on  some  minor  fry,  in  reedy  shallows, 


»<J  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

•  With  flapping  pinions  'and  unsparing  beaks, 
The  well-taught  scholars  plied  their  double  art, 
To  fish  in  troubled  waters,  and  secure 
The  petty  captives  in  their  maiden  pouches  ; 
Then  hurry  with  their  banquet  to  the  shore, 
With  feet,  wings,  breast,  half-swimming  and  half-flying. 
But  when  their  pens  grew  strong  to  fight  the  storm, 
And  buffet  with  the  breakers  on  the  reef, 
The  Parents  put  them  to  severer  proof: 
On  beetling  rocks  the  little  ones  were  marshalPd ; 
There,  by  endearments,  stripes,  example  urged 
To  try  the  void  convexity  of  heaven 
And  plough  the  ocean's  horizontal  field. 
Timorous  at  first,  they  flutter'd  round  the  verge, 
Balanced  and  furl'd  their  hesitating  wings, 
Then  put  them  forth  again  with  steadier  aim ; 
Now,  gaining  courage  as  they  felt  the  wind 
Dilate  their  feathers,  fill  their  airy  frames 
With  buoyancy  that  bore  them  from  their  feet, 
They  yielded  all  their  burden  to  the  breeze, 
And  sail'd  and  soar'd  where'er  their  guardians  led ; 
Ascending,  hovering,  wheeling,  or  alighting, 
They  search'd  the  deep  in  quest  of  nobler  game 
Than  yet  their  inexperience  had  encounter'd ; 
With  these  they  battled  in  that  element, 
Where  wings  or  fins  were  equally  at  home, 
Till,  conquerors  in  many  a  desperate  strife, 
They  dragg'd  their  spoils  to  land,  and  gorged  at  leisure. 

Thus  perfected  in  all  the  arts  of  life, 
That  simple  Pelicans  require, — save  one, 
Which  mother-bird  did  never  teach  her  daughter, 
— The  inimitable  art  to  build  a  nest ; 
Love,  for  his  own  delightful  school,  reserving 
That  mystery  which  novice  never  fail'd 
To  learn  infallibly  when  taught  by  him  : 
— Hence  that  small  masterpiece  of  Nature's  art, 
Still  unimpair'd,  still  unimproved,  remains  • 

The  same  in  site,  material,  shape,  and  texture 


THE   PELICAN    ISLAND.  897 

While  every  kind  a  different  structure  frames, 

All  build  alike  of  each  peculiar  kind  : 

The  nightingale,  that  dwelt  in  Adam's  bower, 

And  pour'd  her  stream  of  music  through  his  dreams ; 

The  soaring  lark,  that  led  the  eye  of  Eve 

Into  the  clouds,  her  thoughts  into  the  heaven 

Of  heavens,  where  lark  nor  eye  can  penetrate  ; 

The  dove,  that  perch'd  upon  the  Tree  of  Life, 

And  made  her  bed  amongst  the  thickest  leaves  ; 

All  the  wing'd  habitants  of  Paradise, 

Whose  songs  once  mingled  with  the  songs  of  Angels, 

Wove  their  first  nests  as  curiously  and  well 

As  the  wood-minstrels  in  our  evil  day, 

After  the  labours  of  six  thousand  years, 

In  which  their  ancestors  have  fail'd  to  add, 

To  alter  or  diminish,  any  thing 

In  that,  of  which  Love  only  knows  the  secret, 

And  teaches  every  mother  for  herself, 

Without  the  power  to  impart  it  to  her  offspring : 

— Thus  perfected  in  all  the  arts  of  life, 

That  simple  Pelicans  require,  save  this, 

Those  Parents  drove  their  young  away ;  the  young 

Gaily  forsook  their  parents.     Soon  enthrall'd 

With  love-alliances  among  themselves, 

They  built  their  nests,  as  happy  instinct  wrought 

Within  their  bosoms,  wakening  powers  unknown. 

Till  sweet  necessity,  was  laid  upon  them ; 

They  bred,  and  rear'd  their  little  families, 

As  they  w«re  train'd  and  disciplined  before. 

Thus  wings  were  multiplied  from  year  to  year, 
And  ere  the  patriarch-twain,  in  good  old  age, 
Resign'd  their  breath  beside  that  ancient  nest, 
In  which  themselves  had  nursed  a  hundred  broods, 
The  isle  was  peopled  with  their  progeny. 


29«  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 


CANTO  FIFTH. 

MEANWHILE,  not  idle,  though  unwatch'd  by  me, 
The  coral  architects  in  silence  rear'd 
Tower  after  tower  beneath  the  dark  abyss. 
Pyramidal  in  form  the  fabrics  rose, 
From  ample  basements  narrowing  to  the  height, 
Until  they  pierced  the  surface  of  the  flood, 
And  dimpling  eddies  sparkled  round  their  peaks. 
Then  (if  great  things  with  small  may  be  compared) 
They  spread  like  water-lilies,  whose  broad  leaves 
Make  green  and  sunny  islets  on  the  pool, 
For  golden  flies,  on  summer-days,  to  haunt, 
Safe  from  the  lightning-seizure  of  the  trout ; 
Or  yield  their  laps  to  catch  the  minnow  springing 
Clear  from  the  stream  to  'scupe  the  ruffian  pike, 
That  prowls  in  disappointed  rage  beneath, 
And  wonders  where  the  little  wretch  found  refuge. 
One  headland  topt  the  waves,  another  follow'd ; 
A  third,  a  tenth,  a  twentieth  soon  appear'd, 
Till  the  long  barren  gulf  in  travail  lay 
With  many  an  infant  struggling  into  birth. 
Larger  they  grew  and  lovelier,  when  they  breathed 
The  vital  air,  and  felt  the  genial  sun ; 
As  though  a  living  spirit  dwelt  in  each, 
Which,  like  the  inmate  of  a  flexile  shell, 
Moulded  the  shapeless  slough  with  its  own  motion, 
And  painted  it  with  colours  of  the  morn. 
Amidst  that  group  of  younger  sisters  stood 
The  Isle  of  Pelicans,  as  stands  the  moon 
At  midnight,  queen  among  the  minor  stars, 
Differing  in  splendour,  magnitude,  and  distance. 
So  look'd  that  archipelago  ;  small  isles, 
By  interwinding  channels  link'd,  yet  sunder'd ; 
All  flourishing  in  peaceful  fellowship, 
Like  forest  oaks  that  love  society  : 
—Of  various  growth  and  progress  ;  here,  a  rock 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  300 


On  which  a  single  palm-tree  waved  its  banner ; 
There  sterile  tracts  unmoulder'd  into  soil; 
Yonder,  dark  woods  whose  foliage  swept  the  water, 
Without  a  speck  of  turf,  or  line  of  shore, 
As  though  their  roots  were  anchor'd  in  the  ocean. 
But  most  were  gardens  redolent  with  flowers, 
And  orchards  bending  with  Hesperian  fruit, 
That  realized  the  dreams  of  olden  time. 

Throughout  this  commonwealth  of  sea-sprung  lands, 
Life  kindled  in  ten  thousand  happy  forms; 
Earth,  air,  and  ocean  were  all  full  of  life. 
Still  highest  in  the  rank  of  being,  soar'd 
The  fowls  amphibious,  and  the  inland  tribes 
Of  dainty  plumage  or  mt'lodious  song. 
In  gaudy  robes  of  many  colour'd  patches, 
The  parrots  swung  like  blossoms  on  the  trees, 
While  their  harsh  voices  undeceived  the  ear. 
More  delicately  pencill'd,  finer  drawn 
In  shape  and  lineament :  too  exquisite 
For  gross  delights  ;  the  Birds  of  Paradise 
Floated  aloof,  as  though  they  lived  on  air, 
And  were  the  orient  progeny  of  heaven, 
Or  spirits  made  perfect  veil'd  in  shining  raiment. 
From  flower  to  flower,  where  wild  bees  flew  and  sung, 
As  countless,  small,  and  musical  as  they, 
Showers  of  bright  humming-birds  came  down,  and  plied 
The  same  ambrosial  task,  with  slender  bill 
Extracting  honey,  hidden  in  those  bells, 
Whose  richest  blooms  grew  pale  beneath  the  blaze 
Of  twinkling  winglets  hovering  o'er  their  petals, 
Brilliant  as  raindrops,  when  the  western  sun 
Sees  his  own  miniature  of  beams  in  each. 

High  on  the  cliffs,  down  on  the  shelly  reef, 
Or  gliding  like  a  silver-shaded  cloud 
Through  the  blue  heaven,  the  mighty  albatross 
Inhaled  the  breezes,  sought  his  humble  food,  .  , 

Or,  where  his  kindred  like  a  flock  reposed, 
Without  a  shepherd,  on  the  grassy  downs, 


300  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Smooth'd  his  white  fleece,  and  slumber'd  in  their  midst. 

Wading  through  marshes,  where  the  rank  sea-weed 
With  spongy  moss  and  flaccid  lichens  strove, 
Flamingoes,  in  their  crimson  tunics,  stalk'd 
On  stately  legs,  with  far-exploring  eye  ; 
Or  fed  and  slept,  in  regimental  lines, 
Watch'd  by  their  sentinels,  whose  clarion-screams 
All  in  an  instant  woke  the  startled  troop. 
That  mounted  lilte  a  glorious  exhalation, 
And  vanish'd  through  the  welkin  far  away, 
Nor  paused  till,  on  some  lonely  coast  alighting, 
Again  their  gorgeous  cohort  took  the  field. 

The  fierce  sea-eagle,  humble  in  attire, 
In  port  terrific,  from  his  lonely  eyrie 
(Itself  a  burden  for  the  tallest  tree) 
Look'd  down  o'er  land  and  sea  as  his  dominions  : 
Now,  from  long  chase,  descending  with  his  prey, 
Young  seal  or  dolphin,  in  his  deadly  clutch, 
He  fed  his  eaglets  in  the  noonday  sun  : 
Nor  less  at  midnight  ranged  the  deep  for  game , 
At  length  entrapp'd  with  his  own  talons,  struck 
Too  deep  to  be  withdrawn,  where  a  strong  shark, 
Roused  by  the  anguish,  with  impetuous  plunge,  • 
Dragg'd  his  assailant  down  into  the  abyss, 
Struggling  in  vain  for  liberty  and  life ; 
His  young  ones  heard  their  parent's  dying  shrieks, 
And  watch'd  in  vain  for  his  returning  wing. 

Here  ran  the  stormy  petrels  on  the  waves, 
As  though  they  were  the  shadows  of  themselves 
Reflected  from  a  lofiier  flight  through  space. 
The  stern  and  gloomy  raven  haunted  here, 
A  hermit  of  the  atmosphere,  on  land 
Among  vociferating  crowds  a  stranger. 
Whose  hoarse,  low,  ominous  croak  disclaim'd  communion 
With  those,  upon  the  ofTal  of  whose  meals 
He  gorged  alone,  or  tore  their  own  rank  corsss : 
The  heavy  penguin,  neither  fish  -nor  fowl, 
With  scaly  feathers  and  with  finny  wings, 


THE   PELICAN    ISLAND.  30. 

Plump'd  stone-like  from  the  rock  into  the  gulf, 
Rebounding  upward  swift  as  from  a  sling. 
Through  yielding  water  as  through  limpid  air, 
The  cormorant,  Death's  living  arroAv,  flew, 
Nor  ever  miss'd  a  t  troke,  or  dealt  a'second, 
So  true  the  infallible  destroyer's  aim. 

Millions  of  creatures  such  as  these,  and  kinds 
Unnamed  by  man,  possess'd  those  busy  isles  ; 
Each  in  its  brief  existence,  to  itself, 
The  first,  last  being  in  the  universe, 
With  whom  the  whole  began,  endured,  and  ended: 
Blest  ignorance  of  bliss,  not  made  for  them  ! 
Happy  exemption  fr.om  the  fear  of  death, 
And  that  which  makes  the  pangs  of  death  immortal, 
The  undying  worm,  the  fire  unquenchable, 
— Conscience,  the  bosom-hell  of  guilty  man  ! 
The  eyes  of  all  look'd  up  to  Him,  whose  hand 
Had  made  them,  and  supplied  their  daily  need ; 
Although  they  knew  Him  not,  they  look'd  to  Him ; 
And  He,  whose  mercy  is  o'er  all  his  works, 
Forgot  not  one  of  his  large  family, 
But  cared  for  each  as  for  an  only  child. 
They  plough'd  not,  sow'd  not,  gather'd  not  in  barns, 
Thought  not  of  yesterday,  nor  knew  to-morrow ; 
Yet  harvests  inexhaustible  they  reap'd 
In  the  prolific  furrows  of  the  main ; 
Or  from  its  sunless  caverns  brought  to  light 
Treasures  for  which  contending  kings  might  war, — 
Gems,  for  which  queens  would  yield  their  hands  to  slaves,— 
By  them  despised  as  valueless  and  naught ; 
From  the  rough  shell  they  pick'd  the  luscious  food, 
And  left  a  prince's  ransom  in  the  pearl. 

Nature's  prime  favourites  were  the  Pelicans  ;  - 
High-fed,  long-lived,  and  sociable  and  free, 
They  ranged  in  wedded  pairs,  or  martial  bands, 
For  play  or  slaughter.     Oft  have  I  beheld 
A  little  army  take  the  watery  field, 
With  outstretch'd  pinions  form  a  spacious  ring, 

26 


302  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 


Then  pressing  to  the  centre,  through  the  waves, 
Enclose  thick  shoals  within  their  narrowing  toils, 
Till  multitudes  entangled  fell  a  prey  : 
Or,  when  the  flying-fish  in  sudden  clouds 
Burst  from  the  sea,  and  flutter'd  through  the  air, 
These  giant  fowlers  snapt  them  like  musquitoes 
By  swallows  hunted  through  the  summer  sky. 

I  turn'd  again  to  look  upon  that  isle, 
Whence  from  one  pair  those  colonies  had  issued 
That  through  these  Cyclades  at  freedom  roved, 
Fish'd  every  stream,  and  fed  on  every  shore ; 
When,  lo  !  a  spectacle  of  strange  extremes 
Awaken'd  sweet  and  melancholy  thoughts : 
All  that  is  helpless,  beautiful,  endearing 
In  infancy,  in  prime  of  youth,  in  love  ; 
All  that  is  mournful  in  decay,  old  age, 
And  dissolution  ;  all  that  awes  the  eye, 
And  chills  the  bosom,  in  the  sad  remains 
Of  poor  mortality,  which  last  awhile, 
To  show  that  life  hath  been,  but  is  no  longer; 
—All  these  in  blended  images  appear'd, 
Exulting,  brooding,  perishing  before  me. 
It  was  a  land  of  births. — Unnumber'd  nests, 
Of  reeds  and  rushes,  studded  all  the  ground, 
A  few  were  desolate  and  fallen  to  ruin ; 
Many  were  building  from  those  waste  materials  ; 
On  some  the  dams  were  sitting,  till  the  stroke 
Of  their  quick  bills  should  break  the  prison-shells, 
And  let  the  little  captives  forth  to  light, 
With  their  first  breath  demanding  food  and  shelter; 
In  others  I  beheld  -the  brood  new  fledged, 
Struggling  to  clamber  out,  take  wing  and  fly 
Up  to  the  heavens,  or  fathom  the  abyss. 
Meanwhile  the  parent  from  the  sea  supplied 
A  daily  feast,  and  from  the  pure  lagoon 
Brought  living  water  in  her  sack,  to  cool 
The  impatient  fever  of  their  clamorous  throats. 
No  need  had  she,  as  hieroglyphics  feign, 


THE   PELICAN   ISLAND.  303 

(A  mystic  lesson  of  mnternal  love,) 

To  pierce  her  breast,  and  with  the  vital  stream, 

Warm  from  its  fountain,  slake  their  thirst  in  blood, 

— The  blood  which  nourish'd  them  ere  they  were  hatch'd, 

While  the  crude  egg  within  herself  was  forming. 

It  was  a  land  of  death. — Between  those  nests 
The  quiet  earth  was  fealher'd  with  the  spoils 
Of  aged  Pelicans,  that  hither  came 
To  die  in  peace,  where  they  had  spent  in  love 
The  sweetest  periods  of  their  long  existence. 
Where  they  were  wont  to  build,  and  breed  their  young, 
There  they  lay  down  to  rise  no  more  for  ever, 
And  close  their  eyes  upon  the  dearest  sight 
On  which  their  living  eyes  had  loved  to  dwell, 
— The  nest  where  every  joy  to  them  was  centred 
There  rife  corruption  tainted  them  so  lightly, 
The  moisture  seem'd  to  vanish  from  their  relics, 
As  dew  from  gossamer,  that  leaves  the  net-work 
Spread  on  the  ground,  and  glistening  in  the  sun ; 
Thus  when  a  breeze  the  ruffled  plumage  stirr'd, 
That  lay  like  drifted  snow  upon  the  soil, 
Their  slender  skeletons  were  seen  beneath, 
So  delicately  framed,  and  half  transparent, 
That  I  have  marvell'd  how  a  bird  so  noble, 
When  in  his  full,  magnificent  attire, 
With  pinions  wider  than  the  king  of  vultures, 
And  down  elastic,  thicker  than  the  swan's, 
Should  leave  so  small  a  cage  of  ribs  to  mark 
Where  vigorous  life  had  dwelt  a  hundred  years. 

Such  was  that  scene ;  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
Next  neighbours  to  the  living  and  the  unborn. 
Oh  how  much  happiness  was  here  enjoy'd ! 
How  little  misery  had  been  sufFer'd  here  ! 
Those  humble  Pelicans  had  each  fulfill'd 
The  utmost  purpose  of  its  span  of  being, 
And  done  its  duty  in  its  narrow  circle, 
As  surely  as  the  sun,  in  his  career, 
Accomplishes  the  glorious  end  of  his. 


804  THE   PELICAN    ISLAND. 


CANTO  SIXTH. 

"AND  thus,"  methought,  "  ten  thousand  suns  may  lead 

The  stars  to  glory  in  their  annual  courses  ; 

Moons  without  number  thus  may  wax  and  wane, 

And  winds  alternate  blow  in  cross-monsoons, 

While  here — through  self-beginning  rounds,  self-ending, 

Then  self-renew'd,  without  advance  or  failure, — 

Existence  fluctuates  only  like  the  tide, 

Whose  everlasting  changes  bring  no  change, 

But  billow  follows  billow  to  the  shore, 

Recoils,  and  billow  out  of  billow  swells  ; 

An  endless  whirl  of  ebbing,  flowing  foam, 

•Where  every  bubble  is  like  every  other, 

And  Ocean's  face  immutable  as  Heaven's. 

Here  is  no  progress  to  sublimer  life  ; 

Nature  stands  still, — stands  at  the  very  point, 

Whence  from  a  vantage-ground  her  bolder  steps 

Might  rise  resplendent  on  the  scale  of  being ; 

Rank  over  rank,  awakening  with  her  tread, 

Inquisitive,  intelligent ;  aspiring 

Each  above  other,  all  above  themselves, 

Till  every  generation  should  transcend 

The  former,  as  the  former  all  the  past. 

"  Such,  such  alone  were  meet  inhabitants 
For  these  fair  isles,  so  wonderfully  form'd 
Amidst  the  solitude  of  sea  and  sky, 
On  which  my  wandering  spirit  first  was  cast, 
And  still  beyond  whose  girdle,  eye  nor  wing 
Can  carry  me  to  undiscover'd  climes, 
Where  many  a  nobler  race  may  dwell ;  whose  waifs 
And  exiles,  toss'd  by  tempests  on  the  flood,  / 

Hither  might  drift  upon  their  native  trees  ; 
Or,  like  their  own  free  birds,  on  fearless  pinions, 
Make  voyages  amidst  the  pathless  heaven, 
And,  lighting,  colonize  these  fertile  tracts, 
Recover'd  from  the  barrenness  of  ocean, 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  305 

Whose  wealth  might  well  repay  the  brave  adventure. 

— Hath  Nature  spent  her  strength  ?    Why  stopp'd  she  here  ? 

Why  stopp'd  not  lower,  if  to  rise  no  higher  ? 

Can  she  not  summon  from  more  ancient  regions, 

Beyond  the  rising  or  the  setting  sun, 

Creatures,  as  far  above  the  mightiest  here 

As  yonder  eagle,  flaming  at  high  noon, 

Outsoars  the  bat  that  flutters  through  the  twilight  ? 

Or  as  the  tender  Pelican  excels 

The  anomalous  abortion  of  the  rock, 

In  which  plant,  fossil,  animal  unite  ? 

"  But  changes  here  may  happen — changes  must ! 
What  hinders  that  new  shores  should  yet  ascend 
Out  of  the  bosom  of  the  deep,  and  spread 
Till  all  converge,  from  one  circumference, 
Into  a  solid  breadth  of  table-land, 
Bound  by  the  horizon,  canopied  with  heaven, 

And  ocean  in  its  own  abyss  absorb'd  ?" 

While  these  imaginations  cross'd  the  mind, 

My  thoughts  fulfill'd  themselves  before  mine  eyes ; 

The  islands  moved  like  circles  upon  water, 

Expanding  till  they  touch'd  each  other,  closed 

The  interjacent  straits,  and  thus  became 

A  spacious  continent  which  fill'd  the  sea. 

That  change  was  total,  like  a  birth,  a  death ; 

— Birth,  that  from  native  darkness  brings  to  light 

The  young  inhabitant  of  this  gay  world ; 

Death,  that  from  seen  to  unseen  things  removes, 

And  swallows  time  up  in  eternity. 

That  which  had  been,  for  ever  ceased  to  be, 

And  that  which  follow'd  was  a  new  creation 

Wrought  from  the  disappearance  of  the  old. 

So  fled  that  pageant  universe  away, 

With  all  its  isles  and  waters.     So  I  found 

Myself  translated  to  that  other  world, 

By  sleight  of  fancy,  like  the  unconscious  act 

Of  waking  from  a  pleasant  dream,  with  sweet 

Relapse  into  a  more  transporting  vision. 

26* 


806  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

The  nursery  of  brooding  Pelicans, 
The  dormitory  of  their  dead,  had  vanish'd, 
And  all  the  minor  spots  of  rock  and  verdure, 
The  abodes  of  happy  millions,  were  no  more  : 
But  in  their  place  a  shadowy  landscape  lay, 
On  whose  extremest  western  verge,  a  gleam 
Of  living  silver,  to  the  downward  sun 
Intensely  glittering,  mark'd  the  boundary  line, 
Which  ocean,  held  by  chains  invisible, 
Fretted  and  foam'd  in  vain  to  overleap. 
Woods,  mountains,  valleys,  rivers,  glens,  and  plains 
Diversified  the  scene  : — that  scene  was  wild, 
Magnificent,  deform'd,  or  beautiful, 
As  framed  expressly  for  all  kinds  of  life, 
With  all  life's  labours,  sufferings,  and  enjoyments, 
Untouch'd  as  yet  by  any  meaner  hand 
Than  His  who  made  it,  and  pronounced  it  good. 
And  good  it  was ; — free  as  light,  air,  fire,  water, 
To  every  thing  that  breathed  upon  its  surface, 
From  the  small  worm  that  crept  abroad  at  midnight 
To  sip  cool  dews,  and  feed  on  sleeping  flowers, 
Then  slunk  into  its  hole,  the  little  vampire  ! 
Through  every  species  which  I  yet  had  seen, 
To  animals,  of  tribes  and  forms  unknown 
In  the  lost  islands ; — beasts  that  ranged  the  forests, 
Grazed  in  the  valleys,  bounded  o'er  the  hills, 
Reposed  in  rich  savannas,  from  gray  rocks 
Pick'd  the  thin  herbage  sprouting  through  their  fissures ; 
Or  in  waste  howling  deserts  found  oases, 
And  fountains  pouring  sweeter  streams  than  nectar, 
And  more  melodious  than  the  nightingale, 
— So  to  the  faint  and  perishing  they  seem'd. 

I  gazed  on  ruminating  herds  of  kine, 
And  sheep  for  ever  wandering ;  goats  that  swung 
Like  spiders  on  the  crags,  so  slight  their  hold ; 
Deer,  playful  as  their  fawns,  in  peace,  but  fell, 
As  battling  bulls,  in  Avars  of  jealousy : 
Through  flowery  champaigns  roam'd  the  fleet  gazelles, 


' 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  307 

Of  many  a  colour,  size,  and  shape, — all  graceful ; 
In  every  look,  step,  attitude  prepared, 
Even  at  the  shadow  of  a  cloud,  to  vanish, 
And  leave  a  solitude  where  thousands  stood, 
With  heads  declined,  and  nibbling  eagerly 
As  Iccusts  when  they  light  on  some  new  soil, 
And  move  no  more  till  they  have  shorn  it  bare. 
On  these,  with  famine  unappeasable, 
Lithe,  muscular,  huge-boned  and  limb'd  for  leaping, 
The  brindled  tyrants  of  brute  nature  prey'd : 
The  weak  and  timid  bow'd  before  the  strong, 
The  many  by  the  few  were  hourly  slaughter'd, 
Where  power  was  right,  and  violence  was  law. 

Here  couch'd  the  panting  tiger,  on  the  watch : 
Impatient  but  unmoved,  his  fire-ball  eyes 
Made  horrid  twilight  in  the  sunless  jungle, 
Till  on  the  heedless  buffalo  he  sprang, 
Dragg'd  the  low-bellowing  monster  to  his  lair, 
Crash'd  through  the  ribs  at  once  into  its  heart, 
QuafPd  the  hot  blood,  and  gorged  the  quivering  flesh, 
Till  drunk  he  lay,  as  powerless  as  the  carcass. 

There,  to  the  solitary  lion's  roar 
So  many  echoes  answer'd,  that  there  seem'd, 
Ten  in  the  field  for  one  ; — where'er  they  turn'd. 
The  flying  animals,  from  cave  to  cave, 
Heard  his  voice  issuing ;  and  recoil'd  aghast, 
Only  to  meet  it  nearer  than  before, 
Or,  ere  they  saw  his  shadow  or  his  face, 
Fall  dead  beneath  his  thunder-striking  paw. 

Calm  amidst  scenes  of  havoc,  in  his  own 
Huge  strength  impregnable,  the  elephant 
Offended  none,  but  led  his  quiet  life 
Among  his  old  contemporary  trees, 
Till  Nature  laid  him  gently  down  to  rest 
Beneath  the  palm,  which  he  was  wont  to  make 
His  prop  in  slumber ;  there  his  relics  lay 
Longer  than  life  itself  had  dwelt  within  them 
Bees  in  the  ample  hollow  of  his  skull 


808  THE   PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Piled  their  wax-citadels,  and  stored  their  honey ; 
Thence  sallied  forth  to  forage  through  the  fields. 
And  swarm'd  in  emigrating  legions  thence  : 
There,  little  burrowing  animals  threw  up 
Hillocks  beneath  the  overarching  ribs  ; 
While  birds,  within  the  spinal  labyrinth, 
Contrived  their  nests  : — so  wandering  Arabs  pitch 
Their  tents  amidst  Palmyra's  palaces  ; 
So  Greek  and  Roman  peasants  build  their  huts 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  Parthenon 
Or  on  the  ruins  of  the  Capitol. 

But  unintelligent  creation  soon 
Fail'd  to  delight ;  the  novelty  departed, 
And  all  look'd  desolate ;  my  eye  grew  weary 
Of  seeing  that  which  it  might  see  for  ever 
Without  a  new  idea  or  emotion  ; 
The  mind  within  me  panted  after  mind, 
The  spirit  sigh'd  to  meet  a  kindred  spirit, 
And  in  my  human  heart  there  was  a  void, 
Which  nothing  but  humanity  could  fill. 
At  length,  as  though  a  prison-door  were  open'd, 
Chains  had  fall'n  off,  and  by  an  angel-guide 
Conducted,  I  escaped  that  desert-bourne  ; 
And  instantaneously  I  travell'd  on, 
Yet  knew  not  how,  for  wings  nor  feet  I  plied, 
But  with  a  motion,  like  the  lapse  of  thought, 
O'er  many  a  vale  and  mountain  I  was  carried, 
Till  in  the  east,  above  the  ocean's  brim, 
I  saw  the  morning  sun,  and  stay'd  my  course, 
Where  vestiges  of  rude  but  social  life 
Arrested  and  detain'd  attention  long. 

Amidst  the  crowd  of  grovelling  animals, 
A  being  more  majestic  stood  before  me  ; 
I  met  an  eye  that  look'd  into  my  soul, 
And  seem'd  to  penetrate  mine  inmost  thoughts. 
Instinctively  I  turn'd  away  to  hide  them, 
For  shame  and  quick  compunction  came  upon  me, 
As  though  detected  on  forbidden  ground, 


THE   PELICAN    ISLAND.  309 

Gazing  on  things  unlawful :  but  my  heart 

Relented  quickly,  and  my  bosom  throbb'd 

With  such  unutterable  tenderness, 

That  every  sympathy  of  human  nature 

Was  by  the  beating  of  a  pulse  enkindled, 

And  flash'd  at  once  throughout  the  mind's  recesses, 

As  in  a  darken'd  chamber,  objects  start 

All  round  the  walls,  the  moment  light  breaks  in. 

The  sudden  tumult  of  surprise  awoke 

My  spirit  from  that  trance  of  vague  abstraction, 

Wherein  I  lived  through  ages,  and  beheld 

Their  generations  pass  so  swiftly  by  me, 

That  years  were  moments  in  their  flight,  and  hours 

The  scenes  of  crowded  centuries  reveal'd  ; 

I  sole  spectator  of  the  wondrous  changes, 

Spell-bound  as  in  a  dream,  and  acquiescing 

In  all  that  happen'd,  though  perplex'd  with  strange 

Conceit  of  something  wanting  through  the  whole. 

That  spell  was  broken,  like  the  vanish'd  film 

From  eyes  born  blind,  miraculously  open'd  ;— 

'Twas  gone,  and  I  became  myself  again, 

Restored  to  memory  of  all  I  knew 

From  books  or  schools,  the  world  or  sage  experience ; 

With  all  that  folly,  or  misfortune  taught  me, — 

Each  hath  her  lessons, — wise  are  they  that  learn. 

Still  the  mysterious  revery  went  on, 

Arid  I  was  still  sole  witness  of  its  issues, 

But  with  clear  mind  and  disenchanted  sight, 

Beholding,  judging,  comprehending  all ; 

Not 'passive  and  bewilder'd  as  before. 

What  was  the  being  which  I  then  beheld  ? 
— Man  going  forth  amidst  inferior  creatures : 
Not  as  he  rose  in  Eden  out  of  dust, 
Fresh  from  the  moulding  hand  of  Deity ; 
Immortal  breath  upon  his  lips  ;  the  light 
Of  uncreated  glory  in  his  soul ; 
Lord  of  the  nether  universe,  and  heir 
Of  all  above  him, — all  above  the  sky, 


S10  THE   PELICAN    ISLAND. 

The  sapphire  pavement  of  his  future  palace : 

Not  so ; — but  rather  like  that  morning  star, 

Which  from  the  highest  empyrean  fell 

Into  the  bottomless  abyss  of  darkness  ; 

There  flaming  only  with  malignant  beams 

Among  the  constellations  of  his  peers, 

The  third  part  of  heaven's  host,  with  him  cast  down 

To  irretrievable  perdition, — thence, 

Amidst  the  smoke  of  unillumined  fires, 

Issuing  like  horrid  sparks  to  blast  creation : 

—Thus,  though  in  dim  eclipse,  before  me  stood, 

As  from  a  world  invisible  call'd  up, 

Man,  in  the  image  of  his  Maker  form'd, 

Man,  to  the  image  of  his  tempter  fall'n  ; 

Yet  still  as  far  above  infernal  fiends, 

As  once  a  little  lower  than  the  angels. 

I  knew  him,  own'd  him,  loved  him,  and  exclaim'd, 

"  Bone  of  my  bone,  flesh  of  my  flesh,  my  Brother ! 

Hail  in  the  depth  of  thy  humiliation  ; 

For  dear  thou  art,  amidst  unconscious  ruin, — 

Dear  to  the  kindliest  feelings  of  my  soul, 

As  though  one  womb  had  borne  us,  and  one  mother 

At  her  sweet  breasts  had  nourish'd  us  as  twins." 

I  saw  him  sunk  in  loathsome  degradation, 
A  naked,  fierce,  ungovernable  savage, 
Companion  to  the  brutes,  himsc4f  more  brutal ; 
Superior  only  in  the  craft  that  made 
The  serpent  subtlest  beast  of  all  the  field, 
Whose  guile  unparadised  the  world,  and  brought 
A  curse  upon  the  earth  which  God  had  blessed. 
That  curse  was  here,  without  the  mitigation 
Of  healthful  toil,  that  half  redeems  the  ground 
Whence  man  was  taken,  whither  he  returns, 
And  which  repays  him  bread  for  patient  labour, 
— Labour,  the  symbol  of  his  punishment, 
— Labour,  the  secret  of  his  happiness. 
The  curse  was  here ;  for  thorns  and  briers  o'erran 
The  tangled  labyrinths,  yet  briers  bare  roses, 


THE   PELICAN   ISLAND.  811 

And  thorns  threw  out  their  annual  snow  of  blossoms: 

The  curse  was  here  ;  and  yet  the  soil  untill'd 

Pour'd  forth  spontaneous  and  abundant  harvests. 

Pulse  and  small  berries,  maize  in  strong  luxuriance, 

And  slender  rice  that  grew  by  many  waters : 

The  forests  cast  their  fruits,  in  husk  or  rind, 

Yielding  sweet  kernels  or  delicious  pulp, 

Smooth  oil,  cool  milk,  and  unfermented  wine, 

In  rich  and  exquisite  variety. 

On  these  the  indolent  inhabitants 

Fed  without  care  or  forethought,  like  the  swine 

That  grubb'd  the  turf,  and  taught  them  where  to  look 

For  dainty  earth-nuts  and  nutritious  roots ; 

Or  the  small  monkeys,  capering  on  the  boughs, 

And  rioting  on  nectar  and  ambrosia, 

The  produce  of  that  Paradise  run  wild : — 

No, — these  were  merry,  if  they  were  not  wise ; 

While  man's  untutor'd  hordes  were  sour  and  sullen, 

Like  those  ahhorr'd  baboons,  whose  gluttonous  taste 

They  follow'd  safely  in  their  choice  of  food ; 

And  whose  brute  semblance  of  humanity 

Made  them  more  hideous  than  their  prototypes, 

That  bore  the  genuine  image  and  inscription, 

Defaced  indeed,  but  yet  indelible. 

— From  ravening  beasts,  and  fowls  that  fish'd  the  ocean, 

Men  learn'd  to  prey  on  meaner  animals, 

But  found  a  secret  out  which  birds  or  beasts, 

Most  cruel,  cunning,  treacherous,  never  knew, 

— The  luxury  of  devouring  one  another. 

Such  were  my  kindred  in  their  lost  estate, 
From  whose  abominations  while  I  turn'd, 
As  from  a  pestilence,  I  mourn'd  and  wept 
With  bitter  lamentation 'o'er  their  ruin  ; 
Sunk  as  they  were  in  ignorance  of  all 
That  raises  man  above  his  origin, 
And  elevates  to  heaven  the  spirit  within  him, 
To  which  the  Almighty's  breath  gave  understanding. 
Large  was  their  stature,  and  their  frames  athletic ; 


S12  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Their  skins  were  dark,  their  locks  like  eagles'  feathers ; 

Their  features  terrible  ; — when  roused  to  wrath, 

All  evil  passions  lighten'd  through  their  eyes, 

Convulsed  their  bosoms  like  possessing  fiends. 

And  loosed  what  sets  on  fire  the  course  of  nature, 

— The  tongue  of  malice,  set  on  fire  of  hell, 

Which  then,  in  cataracts  of  horrid  sounds, 

Raged  through  their  gnashing  teeth  and  foaming  lips, 

Making  the  ear  to  tingle,  and  the  soul 

Sicken,  with  spasms  of  strange  revolting  horror, 

As  if  the  blood  changed  colour  in  the  veins, 

While  hot  and  cold  it  ran  about  the  heart, 

And  red  to  pale  upon  the  cheek  it  show'd. 

Their  visages  at  rest  were  winter-clouds, 

Fix'd  gloom,  whence  sun  nor  shower  could  be  foretold. 

But,  in  high  revelry,  when  full  of  prey, 

Cannibal  prey,  tremendous  was  their  laughter ; 

Their  joy,  the  shock  of  earthquakes  overturning 

Mountains,  and  swamping  rivers  in  their  course  ; 

Or  subterranean  elements  embroil'd, — 

Wind,  fire,  and  water,  till  the  cleft  volcano 

Gives  to  their  devastating  fury  vent : 

That  joy  was  lurking  hatred  in  disguise, 

And  not  less  fatal  in  its  last  excess. 

They  danced, — like  whirlwinds  in  the  Libyan  waste, 

AVhen  the  dead  sand  starts  up  in  living  pillars, 

That  mingle,  part,  and  cross,  then  burst  in  ruin 

On  man  and  beast ; — they  danced  to  shouts  and  screams, 

Drums,  gongs,  and  horns,  their  deafening  din  inflicting 

On  nerves  and  ears  enraptured  with  such  clangour ; 

Till  mirth  grew  madness,  and  the  feast  a  fray, 

That  left  the  field  strown  with  unnatural  carnage, 

To  furnish  out  a  more  unnatural  feast, 

And  lay  the  train  to  inflame  a  bloodier  fray. 

They  dwelt  in  dens  and  caverns  of  the  earth, 
Won  by  the  valiant  from  their  brute  possessors, 
And  held  in  hourly  peril  of  reprisals 
From  the  ferocious  brigands  of  the  woods 


THE   PELICAN    ISLAND.  313 

The  lioness,  benighted  with  her  whelps, 

There  seeking  shelter  from  the  drenching  storm, 

Met  with  unseen  resistance  on  the  threshold, 

And  perish'd  ere  she  knew  by  what  she  fell ; 

Or,  finding  all  within  asleep,  surprised 

The  inmates  in  their  dreams,  from  which  no  more 

Her  deadly  vengeance  suffer'd  them  to  wake. 

— On  open  plains  they  framed  low,  narrow  huts 

Of  boughs,  the  wreck  of  windfalls  or  of  Time, 

Wattled  with  canes,  and  thatch'd  with  reeds  and  leaves; 

There  from  afflictive  noon  sought  twilight  shadow, 

Or  slumber' d  in  the  smoke  of  greenwood  fires, 

To  drive  away  the  pestilent  musquitoes. 

— Some  built  unwieldy  nests  among  the  trees, 

In  which  to  doze  by  night,  or  watch  by  day 

The  joyful  moment,  from  that  ambuscade 

To  slay  the  passing  antelope,  or  wound 

The  jackal  chasing  it,  with  sudden  arrows 

From  bows  that  task'd  a  giant's  strength  to  bend. 

In  flight  or  combat,  on  the  champaign  field, 

They  ran  atilt  with  flinty-headed  spears ; 

Or  launch'd  the  lighter  javelin  through  the  air, 

Follow'd  its  motion  with  a  basilisk's  eye, 

And  shriek'd  with  gladness' when  a  life  was  spill'd: 

They  sent  the  pebble  hissing  from  the  sling, 

Hot  as  the  curse  from  lips  that  wouW  strike  dead, 

If  words  were  stones  ;  here  stones,  as  swift  as  words 

Can  reach  the  ear,  the  unwary  victim  smote. 

In  closer  conflict,  breast  to  breast,  when  one 

Or  both  must  perish  on  the  spot,  they  fought 

With*clubs  of  iron-wood  and  ponderous  force, 

Wielded  with  terrible  dexterity, 

And  falling  down  like  thunderbolts,  which  naught 

But  counter-thunderbolts  coulJ  meet  or  parry. 

Rude-fash ion'd  weapons!  yet  the  lion's  jaws, 

The  tiger's  grasp,  the  eagle's  beak  nnd  talons, 

The  serpent's  fangs,  were  not  more  formidable, 

More  sure  to  hit,  or,  hitting,  sure  to  kill. 

roi..  i.  27 


314  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 


They  knew  not  shame  nor  honour,  yet  knew  pride  ; 
— The  pride  of  strength,  skill,  speed,  and  subtilty ; 
The  pride  of  tyranny  and  violence, 
Not  o'er  the  mighty  only,  whom  their  arm 
Had  crush'd  in  battle  or  had  basely  slain 
By  treacherous  ambush,  or  more  treacherous  smiles, 
Embracing  while  they  stabb'd  the  heart  that  met 
Their  specious  seeming  with  unguarded  breast : 
— The  reckless  savages  display'd  their  pride 
By  vile  oppression  in  its  vilest  forms, — 
Oppression  of  the  weak  and  innocent ; 
Infancy,  womanhood,  old  age,  disease, 
The  lame,  the  halt,  the  blind,  were  wrong'd,  neglected, 
Exposed  to  perish  by  wild  beasts  in  woods, 
Cast  to  the  crocodiles  in  rivers  ;  murder'd, 
Even  by  their  dearest  kindred,  in  cold  blood, 
To  rid  themselves  of  Nature's  gracious  burdens, 
In  mercy  laid  on  man  to  teach  him  mercy. 

But  their  prime  glory  was  insane  debauch. 
To  inflict  and  bear  excruciating  tortures  ; 
The  unshrinking  victim,  while  the  flesh  was  rent 
From  his  live  limbs,  and  eaten  in  his  presence, 
Still  in  his  death-pangs  taunted  his  tormentors 
With  tales  of  cruelty  more  diabolic, 
Wreak'd  by  himself  upon  the  friends  of  those 
Who  now  their  impotence  of  vengeance  wasted 
On  him,  and  drop  by  drop  his  life  extorted 
With  thorns  and  briers  of  the  wilderness, 
Or  the  slow  violence  of  untouching  fire. 

Vanity  too,  pride's  mannikin,  here  play'd 
Satanic  tricks  to  ape  her  master-fiend. 
The  leopard's  beauteoiis  spoils,  the  lion's  mane, 
Engirt  the  loins,  and  waved  upon  the  shoulders 
Of  those  whose  wiles  or  arms  had  won  such  trophies : 
Rude-punctured  figures  of  all  loathsome  things, 
Toads,  scorpions,  asps,  snakes'  eyes  and  double  tongue, 
In  flagrant  colours  on  their  tattooed  limbs, 
Gave  proof  of  intellect,  not  dead  but  sleeping, 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  315 

And  in  its  trance  enacting  strange  vagaries. 
Bracelets  of  human  teeth,  fangs  of  wild  beasts. 
The  jaws  of  sharks,  and  beaks  of  ravenous  birds, 
Glitter'd  and  tinkled  round  their  arms  and  ankles ; 
While  skulls  of  slaughter'd  enemies,  in  chains 
Of  natural  elf-locks,  dangled  from  the  necks 
Of  those,  whose  own  bare  skulls  and  cannibal  teeth 
Ere  long  must  deck  more  puissant  fiends  than  they. 

On  ocean,  too,  they  exercised  dominion  ; — 
Of  hollow  trees  composing  slight  canoes, 
They  paddled  o'er  the  reefs,  cut  through  the  breakers, 
And  rode  the  untamed  billows  far  from  shore ; 
Amphibious  from  their  infancy,  and  fearing 
Naught  in  the  deepest  waters  save  the  shark ; 
Even  him,  well  arm'd,  they  gloried  to  encounter, 
.  And  when  he  turn'd  to  ope  those  gates  of  death, 
That  led  into  the  Hades  of  his  gorge, 
Smote  with  such  stern  decision  to  his  vitals, 
And  vanish'd  through  the  blood-beclouded  waves, 
That,  blind  and  desperate  in  his  agony, 
Headlong  he  plunged,  and  perish'd  in  the  abyss. 
Woman  was  here  the  powerless  slave  of  man ; 
Thus  fallen  Adam  tramples  fallen  Eve, 
Through  all  the  generations  of  his  sons, 
In  whose  barbarian  veins  th'  old  serpent's  renom 
Turns  pure  affection  into  hideous  lust, 
And  wrests  the  might  of  his  superior  arm 
(Given  to  defend  and  bless  his  meek  companion) 
Into  the  very  yoke  and  scourge  of  bondage  ; 
Till  limbs,  by  beauty  moulded,  eyes  of  gladness, 
And  the  full  bosom  of  confiding  truth, 
Made  to  delight  and  comfort  him  in  toil, 
And  change  Care's  den  into  a  halcyon's  nest, 
— Are    broke    with    drudgery,   quench'd   with    stagnant 

tears, 

Or  wrung  with  lonely,  unimparted  wo. 
Man  is  beside  himself,  not  less  than  fall'n 
Below  his  dignity,  who  owns  not  woman 


818  .         THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

As  nearer  to  his  heart  than  when  she  grew 
A  rib  within  him, — as  his  heart's  own  heart. 

He  slew  the  game  with  his  unerring  arrow, 
But  left  it  in  the  bush  for  her  to  drag 
Home,  with  her  feeble  hands,  already  burden'd 
With  a  young  infant  clinging  to  her  shoulders. 
Here  she  fell  down  in  travail  by  the  way, 
Her  piteous  groans  unheard,  or,  heard,  unanswer'd ; 
There,  with  her  convoy,  she — mother,  and  child, 
And  slaughter'd  deer — became  some  wild  beast's  prey ; 
Though  spoils  so  rich  not  one  could  long  enjoy, — 
Soon  the  woods  echo'd  with  the  huge  uproar 
Of  savage  throats  contending  for  the  bodies, 
Till  not  a  bone  was  left  for  farther  quarrel. 
— He  chose  the  spot ;  she  piled  the  wood,  she  wove 
The  supple  withes,  and  bound  the  thatch  that  form'd 
The  ground-built  cabin,  or  the  tree-swung  nest. 
— He  brain'd  the  drowsy  panther  in  his  den, 
At  noon  o'ercome  by  heat,  and  with  closed  lids 
Fearing  assaults  from  none  but  vexing  flies, 
Which,  with  his  ring-streak'd  tail  he  switch'd  away ; 
The  citadel  thus  storm' d,  the  monster  slain, 
By  the  dread  prowess  of  his  daring  arm, 
She  roll'd  the  stones,  and  planted  the  stockade, 
To  fortify  the  garrison  for  him, 
Who  scornfully  look'd  on,  at  ease  reclined, 
Or  only  rose  to  beat  her  to  the  task. 

Yet,  midst  the  gall  and  wormwood  of  her  lot, 
She  tasted  joys  which  none  but  woman  knows, 
— The  hopes,  fears,  feelings,  raptures  of  a  mother, 
Well-nigh  compensating  for  his  unkindriess, 
Whom  yet  with  all  her  fervent  soul  she  loved. 
Dearer  to  her  than  all  the  universe, 
The  looks,  the  cries,  the  embraces  of  her  babes ; 
In  each  of  whom  she  lived  a  separate  life, 
And  felt  the  fountain,  whence  their  veins  were  fill'd, 
Flow  in  perpetual  union  with  the  streams 
That  swell'd  their  pulses,  and  throbb'd  back  through  hers 


THE   PELICAN    ISLAND.  317 

Oh !  'twas  benign  relief  when  my  vex'd  eye 
Could  turn  from  man,  the  sordid,  selfish  savage, 
And  gaze  on  woman  in  her  self-denial, 
To  him  and  to  their  offspring  all  alive, 
Dead  only  to  herself, — save  when  she  won 
His  unexpected  smile ;  then,  then  she  look'd 
A  thousand  times  more  beautiful,  to  meet 
|A  glance  of  aught  like  tenderness  from  him; 
And  sent  the  sunshine  of  her  happy  heart 
So  warm  into  the  charnel-house  of  his, 
That  Nature's  genuine  sympathies  awoke, 
And  he  almost  forgot  himself  in  her. 
O  man  !  lost  man  !  amidst  the  desolation 
Of  goodness  in  thy  soul,  there  yet  remains 
One  spark  of  Deity, — that  spark  is  love. 


CANTO  SEVENTH. 

AGES  again,  with  silent  revolution, 

Brought  morn  and  even,  noon  and  night,  with  all 

The  old  vicissitudes  of  Nature's  aspect : 

Rains  in  their  season  fertilized  the  ground, 

Winds  sow'd  their  seeds  of  every  kind  of  plant 

On  its  peculiar  soil ;  while  snns  matured 

What  winds  had  sown,  and  rains  in  season  water'd, 

Providing  nourishment  for  all  that  lived  : 

Man's  generations  came  and  went  like  these, 

— The  grass  and  flowers  that  wither  where  they  spring ; 

— The  brutes  that  perish  wholly  where  they  fall. 

Thus  while  I  mused  on  these  in  long  succession, 
And  all  remain'd  as  all  had  been  before, 
I  cried,  as  I  was  wont,  though  none  did  listen, 
— 'Tis  sweet  sometimes  to  speak  and  bo  the  hearer; 
For  he  is  twice  himself  who  can  converse 
With  his  own  thoughts,  as  with  a  living  throng 

27* 


31S  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Of  fellow-travellers  in  solitude  ; 

And  mine  too  long  had  been  my  sole  companions : 

— "  What  is  this  mystery  of  human  life  ? 

In  rude  or  civilized  society, 

Alike,  a  pilgrim's  progress  through  this  world 

To  that  which  is  to  come,  by  the  same  stages ; 

With  infinite  diversity  of  fortune 

To  each  distinct  adventurer  by  the  way  ! 

"  Life  is  the  transmigration  of  a  soul 
Through  various  bodies,  various  states  of  being; 
New  manners,  passions,  tastes,  pursuits  in  each ; 
In  nothing,  save  in  consciousness,  the  same. 
Infancy,  adolescence,  manhood,  age, 
Are  alway  moving  onward,  alway  losing 
Themselves  in  one  another,  lost  at  length, 
Like  undulations,  on  the  strand  of  death. 
The  sage  of  threescore  years  and  ten  looks  back,— 
With  many  a  pang  of  lingering  tenderness, 
And  many  a  shuddering  conscience-fit, — on  what 
He  hath  been,  is  not,  cannot  be  again ; 
Nor  trembles  less  with  fear  and  hope,  to  think 
What  he  is  now,  but  cannot  long  continue, 
And  what  he  must  be  through  uncounted  ages. 
— The  Child ; — we  know  no  more  of  happy  childhood. 
Than  happy  childhood  knows  of  wretched  eld; 
And  all  our  dreams  of  its  felicity 
Are  incoherent  as  its  own  crude  visions : 
We  but  begin  to  live  from  that  fine  point 
Which  memory  dwells  on,  with  the  morning-star, 
The  earliest  note  we  heard  the  cuckoo  sing, 
Or  the  first  daisy  that  we  ever  pluck'd, 
When  thoughts  themselves  were  stars,  and  birds,  and  flowers, 
Pure  brilliance,  simplest  music,  wild  perfume. 
Thenceforward,  mark  the  metamorphoses  ! 
— The  Boy,  the  Girl ; — when  all  was  joy,  hope,  promise ; 
Yet  who  .would  be  a  Boy,  a  Girl  again, 
To  bear  the  yoke,  to  long  for  liberty, 
And  dream  of  what  will  never  come  to  pass ; 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  319 

— The  Youth,  the  Maiden  : — living  but  for  love, 
Yet  learning  soon  that  life  hath  other  cares, 
And  joys  less  rapturous,  but  more  enduring : 
— The  Woman  ; — in  her  offspring  multiplied : 
A  tree  of  life,  whose  glory  is  her  branches, 
Beneath  whose  shadow,  she  (both  root  and  stem) 
Delights  to  dwell  in  meek  obscurity, 
That  they  may  be  the  pleasure  of  beholders  : 
— The  Man  : — as  father  of  a  progeny, 
Whose  birth  requires  his  death  to  make  them  room, 
Yet  in  whose  lives  he  feels  his  resurrection, 
And  grows  immortal  in  his  children's  children: 
— Then  the  gray  Elder ; — leaning  on  his  staff, 
And  bow'd  beneath  a  weight  of  years,  that  steal 
Upon  him  with  the  secrecy  of  sleep, 
(No  snow  falls  lighter  than  the  snow  of  age, 
None  with  such  subtilty  benumbs  the  frame,) 
Till  he  forgets  sensation,  and  lies  down 
Dead  in  the  lap  of  his  primeval  mother ; 
She  throws  a  shroud  of  turf  and  flowers  around  him, 
Then  calls  the  worms,  and  bids  them  do  their  office: 
— Man  giveth  up  the  ghost, — and  where  is  He  ?" 
That  startling  question  broke  my  lucubration; 
I  saw  those  changes  realized  before  me ; 
Saw  them  recurring  in  perpetual  line, 
The  line  unbroken,  while  the  thread  ran  on, 
Failing  at  this  extreme,  at  that  renew'd, 
— Like  buds,  leaves,  blossoms,  fruits  on  herbs  and  trees; 
Like  mites,  flies,  reptiles ;  birds,  and  beasts,  and  fishes, 
Of  every  length  of  period  here, — all  mortal, 
And  all  resolved  into  those  elements 
Whence  they  had  emanated,  whence  they  drew 
Their  sustenance,  and  which  their  wrecks  recruited 
To  generate  and  foster  other  forms 
As  like  themselves  as  were  the  lights  of  heaven, 
For  ever  moving  in  serene  succession,  . 

—Not  like  those  lights  unquenchable  by  time, 
But  ever  changing,  like  the  clouds  that  come, 


320  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Who  can  tell  whence  ?  and  go,  who  can  tell  whither  ? 

Thus  the  swift  series  of  man's  race  elapsed, 

As  for  no  higher  destiny  created 

Than  aught  beneath  them, — from  the  elephant 

Down  to  the  worm,  thence  to  the  zoophyte, 

That  link  which  binds  Prometheus  to  his  rock, 

The  living  fibre  to  insensate  matter. 

They  were  not,  then  they  were ;  the  unborn,  the  living  ! 

They  were,  then  were  not ;  they  had  lived  and  died ; 

No  trace,  no  record  of  their  date  remaining,         * 

Save  in  the  memory  of  kindred  beings, 

Themselves  as  surely  hastening  to  oblivion  ; 

Till,  where  the  soil  had  been  renew'd  by  relics, 

And  earth,  air,  water  were  one  sepulchre, 

Earth,  air,  and  water  might  be  search'd  in  vain, 

Atom  by  atom  scrutinized  with  eyes 

Of  microscopic  power,  that  could  discern 

The  population  of  a  dew-drop,  yet 

No  particle  betray  the  buried  secret 

Of  what  they  had  been,  or  of  Avhat  they  were  : 

Life  thus  was  swallow'd  by  mortality, 

Mortality  thus  swallow'd  up  of  life, 

And  man  remain'd  the  world's  unmoved  possessor, 

Though  every  moment  men  appear'd  and  vanish'd. 

Oh  !  'twas  heart-sickness  to  behold  them  thus 
Perishing  without  knowledge  ; — perishing, 
As  though  they  were  but  things  of  dust  and  ashes. 
They  lived  unconscious  of  their  noblest  powers, 
As  were  the  rocks  and  mountains  which  they  trod 
Of  gold  and  jewels  hidden  in  their  bowels ; 
They  lived  unconscious  of  what  lived  within  them, 
The  deathless  spirit,  as  were  the  stars  that  shone 
Above  their  heads,  of  their  own  emanations. 
And  did  it  li ve  Avithin  them  ?  did  there  dwell 
Fire  brought  from  heaven  in  forms  of  miry  clay  ? 
Untemper'.d  as  the  slime  of  Babel's  builders, 
And  left  unfinish'd  like  their  monstrous  work  ? 
To  me,  alas  !  they  seem'd  but  living  bodies, 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  Ml 

With  still-born  souls  which  never  could  be  quicken'd, 

Till  death  brought  immortality  to  light, 

And  from  the  darkness  of  their  earthly  prison 

Placed  them  at  once  before  the  bar  of  God ; 

Then  first  to  learn,  at  their  eternal  peril, 

The  fact  of  his  existence  and  their  own. 

Imagination  durst  not  follow  them, 

Nor  stand  one  moment  at  that  dread  tribunal. 

"  Shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do  right  ?" 

I  trembled  while  I  spake.     I  could  not  bear 

The  doubt,  fear,  horror,  that  o'erhung  the  fate 

Of  millions,  millions,  millions, — living,  dying, 

Without  a  hope  to  hang  a  hope  upon, 

That  of  the  whole  it  might  not  be  affirm'd, 

— "  'Twere  better  that  they  never  had  been  born." 

I  turn'd  away,  and  look'd  for  consolation, 

Where  Nature  else  had  shrunk  with  loathing  back, 

Or  imprecated  curses,  in  her  wrath, 

Even  on  the  fallen  creatures  of  my  race, 

O'er  whose  mysterious  doom  my  heart  was  breaking. 

I  saw  an  idiot  with  long  haggard  visage, 
And-  eye  of  vacancy,  trolling  his  tongue 
From  cheek  to  cheek  ;  then  muttering  syllables, 
Which  all  the  learn'd  on  earth  could  not  interpret, 
Yet  were  they  sounds  of  gladness,  tones  of  pleasure, 
Ineffable  tranquillity  expressing, 
Or  pure  and  buoyant  animal  delight : 
For  bright  the  sun  shone  round  him ;  cool  the  breeze 
Play'd  in  the  floating  shadow  of  the  palm, 
Where  he  lay  rolling  in  voluptuous  sloth : 
And  he  had  fed  deliciously  on  fruit, 
That  fell  into  his  lap,  and  virgin  honey, 
That  melted  from  the  hollow  of  the  rock, 
Whither  the  hum  and  stir  of  bees  had  drawn  him. 
He  knew  no  bliss  beside,  save  sleep  when  weary. 
Or  reveries  like  this,  when  broad  awake. 
Glimpses  of  thought  seem'd  flashing  through  his  brain, 
Like  wildfires  flitting  o'er  the  rank  morass, 


328  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 


Snares  to  the  night-bewilder' d  traveller ! 

Gently  he  raised  his  head,  and  peep'd  around, 

As  if  he  hoped  to  see  some  pleasant  object, 

— The  wingless  squirrel  jet  from  tree  to  tree, 

— The  monkey  pilfering  a  parrot's  nest, 

But,  ere  he  bore  the  precious  spoil  away, 

Surprised  behind  by  beaks,  and  wings,  and  claws, 

That  made  him  scamper  gibbering  away  ; 

— The  sly  opossum  dangle  by  her  tail, 

To  snap  the  silly  birds  that  perch'd  too  near ; 

Or  in  the  thicket,  with  her  young  at  play, 

Start  when  the  rustling  grass  announced  a  snake, 

And  secrete  them  within  her  second  womb, 

Then  stand  alert  to  give  the  intruder  battle, 

Who  rear'd  his  crest,  and  hiss'd,  and  glid  away : — 

— These  with  the  transport  of  a  child  he  view'd, 

Then  laugh'd  aloud,  and  crack'd  his  fingers,  smote 

His  palms,  and  clasp'd  his  knees,  convulsed  with  glee; 

A  sad,  sad  spectacle  of  merriment ! 

Yet  he  was  happy ;  happy  in  this  life  ; 

And  could  I  doubt,  that  death  to  him  would  bring 

Intelligence,  which  he  had  ne'er  abused, 

A  soul,  which  he  had  never  lost  by  sin  ? 

I  saw  a  woman,  panting  from  her  throes, 
Stretch'd  in  a  lonely jsabin  on  the  ground, 
Pale  with  the  anguish  of  her  bitter  hour, 
Whose  sorrow  she  forgat  not  in  the  joy 
Which  mothers  feel  when  a  man-child  is  born ; 
Hers  was  an  infant  of  her  own  scorn'd  sex  : 
It  lay  upon  her  breast ; — she  laid  it  there, 
By  the  same  instinct,  which  taught  it  to  find 
The  milky  fountain,  fill'd  to  meet  its  wants 
Even  at  the  gate  of  life, — to  drink  and  live. 
Awhile  she  lay  all  passive  to  the  touch 
Of  those  small  fingers,  and  the  soft,  soft  lips 
Soliciting  the  sweet  nutrition  thence, 
While  yearning  sympathy  crept  round  her  heart 
She  felt  her  spirit  yielding  to  the  charm. 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 


That  wakes  the  parent  in  the  fellest  bosom, 
And  binds  her  to  her  little  one  for  ever, 
If  once  completed  ; — but  she  broke,  she  broke  it, 
For  she  was  brooding  o'er  her  sex's  wrongs, 
And  seem'd  to  lie  amidst  a  nest  of  scorpions, 
That  stung  remorse  to  frenzy  : — forth  she  sprang, 
And  with  collected  might  a  moment  stood, 
Mercy  and  misery  struggling  in  her  thoughts, 
Yet  both  impelling  her  to  one  dire  purpose. 
There  was  a  little  grave  already  made, 
But  two  spans  long,  in  the  turf-floor  beside  her, 
By  him  who  was  the  father  of  that  child  : 
Thence  he  had  sallied,  when  the  work  was  done, 
To«hunt,  to  fish,  or  ramble  on  the  hills, 
Till  all,  was  peace  again  within  that  dwelling, 
— His  haunt,  his  d.en,  his  any  thing  but  home ! 
Peace  ? — no,  till  the  new-comer  were  despatch'^ 
Whence  it  should  ne'er  return,  to  break  the  stupor 
Of  unawaken'd  conscience  in  himself. 

She  pluck  d  the  baby  from  her  flowing  breast, 
And  o'er  its  mouth,  yet  moist  with  Nature's  beverage, 
Bound  a  thick  lotus-leaf  to  still  its  cries  ; 
Then  laid  it  down  rri  that  untimely  grave, 
As  tenderly  as  though  'twere  rock  d  to  sleep 
With  songs  of  love,  and  she  afraid  to  wake  it : 
Soon  as  she  felt  it  touch  the  ground,  she  started, 
Hurried  the  damp  earth  over  it ;  then  fell 
Flat  on  the  heaving  heap,  and  crush'd  it  down 
With  the  whole  burden  of  her  grief;  exclaiming, 
"  Oh  that  my  mother  had  done  so  to  me  !" 
Then  in  a  swoon  forgot,  a  little  while. 
Her  child,  her  sex,  her  tyrant,  and  herself. 

Amazement  wither'd  up  all  human  feeling; 
I  wonder'd  how  I  could  look  on  so  calmly, 
As  though  I  were  but  animated  stone, 
And  not  kneel  down  upon  the  spot,  and  pray 
That  earth  might  open  to  devour  that  mother, 
Or  heaven  shoot  lightning  to  avenge  that  daughter; 


324  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

But  horror  soon  gave  way  to  hope  and  pity, 
— Hope  for  the  dead,  and  pity  for  the  living. 
Thenceforth  when  I  beheld  troops  of  wild  children 
Frolicking  round  the  tents  of  wickedness, 
Though  my  heart  danced  within  me  to  the  music 
Of  their  loud  voices  and  unruly  mirth, 
The  blithe  exuberance  of  beginning  life  ! 
I  could  not  weep  when  they  went  out  like  sparks, 
That  glitter,  creep,  and  dwindle  out,  on  tinder. 
Happy,  thrice  happy  were  they  thus  to  die, 
Rather  than  grow  into  such  men  and  women, 
—Such  fiends  incarnate  as  that  felon-sire, 
Who  dug  its  grave  before  his  child  was  born ; 
Such  miserable  wretches  as  that  mother, 
Whose  tendef  mercies  were  so  deadly  cruel ! 

I  saw  their  infant's  spirit  rise  to  heaven, 
Caught  from  its  birth  up  to  the  throne  of  God  ; 
There,  thousands  and  ten  thousands,  I  beheld, 
Of  innocents  like  this,  that  died  untimely, 
By  violence  of  their  unnatural  kin, 
Or  by  the  mercy  of  that  gracious  Power, 
Who  gave  them  being,  taking  what  He  gave 
Ere  they  could  sin  or  suffer  like  their  parents. 
I  saw  them  in  white  raiment,  crown'd  with  flowers, 
On  the  fair  banks  of  that  resplendent  river, 
Whose  streams  make  glad  the  city  of  our  God ; 
— Water  of  life,  as  clear  as  crystal,  welling 
Forth  from  the  throne  itself,  and  visiting 
Fields  of  a  Paradise  that  ne'er  was  lost ; 
Where  yet  the  tree  of  life  immortal  grows, 
,    And  bears  its  monthly /ruits,  twelve  kinds  of  fruit, 
Each  in  its  season,  food  of  saints  and  angels  ; 
Whose  leaves  are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations. 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  its  blessed  boughs, 
I  mark'd  those  rescued  infants,  in  their  schools, 
By  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect,  taught 
The  glorious  lessons  of  almighty  love, 
Which  brought  them  thither  by  the  readiest  path 


THE   PELICAN   ISLAND.  319 

From  the  world's  wilderness  of  dire  temptations, 
Securing  thus  their  everlasting  weal. 

Yea,  in  the  rapture  of  that  hour,  though  songs 
Of  cherubim  to  golden  lyres  and  trumpets, 
And  the  redeem'd  upon  the  sea  of  glass, 
With  voices  like  the  sound  of  many  waters, 
Came  on  mine  ear,  whose  secret  cells  were  open'd 
To  entertain  celestial  harmonies, 
— The  small,  sweet  accents  of  those  little  children. 
Pouring  out  all  the  gladness  of  their  souls 
In  love,  joy,  gratitude,  and  praise  to  Him, 
— Him,  who  had  loved  and  wash'd  them  in  his  blood; 
These  were  to  me  the  most  transporting  strains 
Amidst  the  hallelujahs  of  all  heaven. 
Though  lost  awhile  in  that  amazing  chorus 
Around  the  throne, — at  happy  intervals, 
The  shrill  hosannas  of  the  infant-choir, 
Singing  in  that  eternal  temple,  brought 
Tears  to  mine  eye,  which  seraphs  had  been  glad 
To  weep,  could  they  have  felt  the  sympathy 
That  melted  all  my  soul,  when  I  beheld 
How  condescending  Deity  thus  deign'd, 
Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  here, 
To  perfect  his  high  praise  : — the  harp  of  heaven 
Had  lack'd  its  least  but  not  its  meanest  string, 
Had  children  not  been  taught  to  play  upon  it, 
And  sing,  from  feelings  all  their  own,  what  men 
Nor  angels  can  conceive  of  creatures,  born 
Under  the  curse,  yet  from  the  curse  redeem'd, 
And  placed  at  once  beyond  the  power  to  fall, 
— Safety  which  men  nor  angels  ever  knew, 
Till  ranks  of  thjse  and  all  of  those  had  fallen. 


828  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 


CANTO  EIGHTH. 

'TWAS  but  the  vision  of  an  eye-glance  ;  gone 

Ere  thought  could  fix  upon  it, — gone  like  lightning 

At  midnight,  when  the  expansive  flash  reveals 

Alps,  Apennines,  and  Pyrenees,  in  one 

Glorious  horizon,  suddenly  lit  up, — 

Rocks,  rivers,  forests, — quench'd  as  suddenly . 

A  glimpse  that  fill'd  the  mind  with  images, 

Which  years  can  hot  obliterate  :  but  stamp'd 

With  instantaneous,  everlasting  force 

On  memory's  more  than  adamantine  tablet ; — 

A  glimpse  of  that  which  eye  hath  never  seen, 

Ear  heard,  nor  heart  of  man  conceived. — It  pass'd, 

But  what  it  show'd  can  never  pass. — It  pass'd, 

And  left  me  wandering  through  that  land  of  exile, 

Cut  off  from  intercourse  with  happier  lands  ; 

Abandon'd,  as  it  seem'd,  by  its  Creator ; 

Unvisited  by  Him,  who  came  from  heaven 

To  seek  and  save  the  lost  of  every  clime  ; 

And  where  God,  looking  down  in  wrath,  hath  said, 

"  My  spirit  shall  no  longer  strive  with  man :" 

— So  ignorance  or  unbelief  might  deem. 

Was  it  thus  outlaw'd  ?     No ;  God  left  himself 
Not  without  witness  of  his  presence  there ; 
He  gave  them  rain  from  heaven  and  fruitful  seasons, 
Filling  unthankful  hearts  with  food  and  gladness. 
He  gave  them  kind  affections,  which  they  strangled, 
Turning  his  grace  into  lasciviousness. 
He  gave  them  powers  of  intellect,  to  scale 
Heaven's  height ;  to  name  and  number  all  the  stars ; 
To  penetrate  earth's  depths  for  hidden  riches, 
Or  clothe  its  surface  with  fertility; 
Amidst  the  haunts  of  dragons,-  dens  of  satyrs, 
To  call  up  hamlets,  villages,  and  towns, 
The  abode  of  peace  and  industry  ;  to  build 
Cities  and  palaces  amid  waste  places ; 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  VI 

To  sound  the  ocean,  combat  with  the  winds, 
Travel  the  waves,  and  compass  every  shore, 
On  voyages  of  commerce  or  adventure  ; 
To  shine  in  civil  and  refining  arts,. 
With  tranquil  science  elevate  the  soul ; 
To  explore  the  universe  of  mind ;  to  trace 
The  Nile  of  thinking  to  its  secret  source, 
And  thence  pursue  its  infinite  meanders, 
Not  lost  amidst  the  labyrinths  of  Time, 
But  o'er  the  cataract  of  death  down  rolling, 
To  flow  for  ever,  and  for  ever,  and  for  ever, 
Where  time  nor  space  can  limit  its  expansion. 

He  gave  the  ideal,  too,  of  truth  and  beauty  ; — 
To  look  on  Nature  with  a  poet's  eye, 
And  live,  amidst  the  daylight  of  this  world, 
In  regions  of  enchantment ; — with  the  force 
Of  song,  as  with  a  spirit,  to  possess 
The  souls  of  those  that  hearken,  till  they  feil 
But  what  the  minstrel  feels,  and  do  but  that, 
Which  his  strange  inspiration  makes  them  do ; 
Thus  with  his  breath  to  kindle  war,  and  bring 
The  array  of  battle  to  electric  issue  ; 
Or,  while  opposing  legions,  front  to  front, 
*Wait  the  dread  signal  for  the  work  of  havoc, 
Step  in  between,  and  with  the  healing  voice 
Of  harmony  and  concord  win  them  so, 
That  hurling  down  their  weapons  of  destruction 
They  rush  into  each  other's  arms,  with  shouts 
And  tears  of  transport ;  till  inveterate  foes 
Are  friends  and  brethren,  feasting  on  the  field, 
Where  vultures  else  had  feasted,  and  gorged  wolves 
HowPd  in  convulsive  slumber  o'er  their  corses. 

Such  powers  as  these  were  given,  but  given  in  vain; 
They  knew  them  not,  or,  as  they  learn'd  to  know, 
Perverted  them  to  more  pernicious  evil 
Than  ignorance  had  skill  to  perpetrate. 
Yet  the  great  Father  gave  a  richer  portion 
To  these,  the  most  impoverished  of  his  children; 


— ^, 


S88  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

He  sent  the  light  that  lighteth  every  man 

That  comes  into  the  world, — the  light  of  truth : 

But  Satan  turn'd  that  light  to  darkness  ;  turn'd 

God's  truth  into  a  lie,  and  they  believed 

His  lie,  who  led  them  captive  at  his  will, 

Usurp'd  the  throne  of  Deity  on  earth, 

And  claim'd  allegiance,  in  all  hideous  forms, 

— The  abominable  emblems  of  himself, 

The  legion-fiend,  who  takes  whatever  shape 

Man's  crazed  imagination  can  devise 

To  body  forth  his  notion  of  a  God, 

And  prove  how  low  immortal  minds  can  fall, 

When  from  the  living  God  they  fall,  to  serve 

Dumb  idols.     Thus  they  worshipp'd  stocks  and  stones, 

Which  hands  unapt  for  sculpture  executed, 

In  their  egregious  folly,  like  themselves, 

Though  not  more  like,  even  in  barbarian  eyes, 

Than  antic  clouds  resemble  animals. 

To  these  they  ofFer'd  flowers  and  fruits  :  to  those, 

Reptiles ;  to  others,  birds,  and  beasts,  and  fishes ; 

To  some  they  sacrificed  their  enemies, 

To  more  their  children,  and  themselves  to  all. 

So  had  the  god  of  this  apostate  world 
Blinded  their  eyes.     But  the  true  God  had  placed 
Yet  further  witness  of  his  grace  among  them, 
When  all  remembrance  of  himself  was  lost : 
• — Knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  right  and  wrong ; 
But  knowledge  was  confounded,  till  they  call'd 
Good  evil,  evil  good ;  refused  the  right, 
And  chose  and  loved  the  wrong  for  its  own  sake. 
One  witness  more,  his  own  ambassador 
On  earth,  the  Almighty  left  to  be  their  prophet, 
Whom  Satan  could  not  utterly  beguile, 
Nor  always  hold  with  his  ten  thousand  fetters, 
Lock'd  in  the  dungeon  of  the  obdurate  breast, 
And  trampled  down  by  all  its  atheist  inmates  ; 
—Conscience,  tremendous  conscience,  in  his  fits 
Of  inspiration, — whencesoe'er  it  came, 


THE   PELICAN    ISLAND.  S99 

Rose  like  a  ghost,  inflicting  fear  of  death 

On  those  who  fear'd  not  death  in  fiercest  battle, 

And  mock'd  him  in  their  martyrdoms  of  torments: 

That  secret,  swift,  and  silent  messenger 

Broke  on  them  in  their  lonely  hours, — in  sleep, 

In  sickness ;  haunting  them  with  dire  suspicions 

Of  something  in  themselves  that  would  not  die, 

Of  an  existence  elsewhere,  and  hereafter, 

Of  which  tradition  was  not  wholly  silent, 

Yet  spake  not  out ;  its  dreary  oracles 

Confounded  superstition  to  conceive, 

And  baffled  skepticism  to  reject : 

— What  fear  of  death  is  like  the  fear  beyond  it? 

But  pangs  like  theser  were  lucid  intervals 
In  the  delirium  of  the  life  they  led, 
And  all  "unwelcome  as  returning  reason, 
Which  through  the  chaos  of  a  maniac's  brain 
Shoots  gleams  of  light  more  terrible  than  darkness. 
These  sad  misgivings  of  the  smitten  heart, 
Wounded  unseen  by  conscience  from  its  ambush ; 
These  voices  from  eternity,  that  spake 
TO  an  eternity  of  soul  within, — 
Were  quickly  lull'd  by  riotous  enjoyment. 
Or  lost  in  hurricanes  of  headlong  passion. 
They  knew  no  higher,  sought  no  happier  state ; 
Had  no  fine  instinct  of  superior  joys 
Than  those  of  sense  ;  no  taste  for  sense  refined 
Above  the  gross  necessities  of  nature, 
Or  outraged  Nature's  most  unnatural  cravings. 
Why  should  they  toil  to  make  the  earth  bring  forth, 
When  without  toil  she  gave  them  all  they  wanted? 
The  bread-fruit  ripen'd,  while  they  lay  beneath 
Its  shadow  in  luxurious  indolence  : 
The  cocoa  fill'd  its  nuts  with  milk  and  kernels, 
While  they  were  sauntering  on  the  shores  and  mountains; 
And  while  they  slumber'd  from  their  heavy  meals, 
In  dead  forgetfulness  of  life  itself, 
The  fish  were  spawning  in  unsounded  depths, 

28* 


330  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

The  birds  were  breeding  in  adjacent  trees, 
The  game  was  fattening  in  delicious  pastures, 
Unplanted  roots  were  thriving  imder  ground, 
To  spread. the  tables  of  their  future  banquets  ! 

Thus  what  the  sires  had  been,  the  sons  became, 
And  generations  rose,  continued,  went, 
Without  memorial, — like  the  Pelicans 
On  that  lone  island,  where  they  built  their  nests,      ;^  • 
Nourish'd  their  young,  and  then  lay  down  to  die : 
Hence  through  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  years, 
Man's  history,  in  that  region  of  oblivion, 
Might  be  recorded  in  a  page  as  small 
As  the  brief  legend  of  those  Pelicans, 
With  one  appalling,  one  sublime  distinction, 
(Sublime  with  horror,  with  despair  appalling,) 
— That  Pelicans  were  not  transgressors  ; — Man, 
Apostate  from  the  womb,  by  blood  a  traitor. 
Thus,  while  he  rose  by  dignity  of  birth, 
He  sunk  in  guilt  and  infamy  below 
Creatures,  whose  being  was  but  lent,  not  given, 
And,  when  the  debt  was  due,  reclaim'd  for  ever. 
Oh  enviable  lot  of  innocence  ! 
Their  bliss  and  wo  were  only  of  this  world  : 
Whate'er  their  lives  had  been,  though  born  to  suffer 
Not  less  than  to  enjoy,  their  end  was  peace. 
Man  was  immortal,  yet  he  lived  and  died 
As  though  there  were  no  life,  nor  death,  but  this  : 
Alas !  what  life  or  death  may  be  hereafter, 
He  only  knows  who  hath  ordain'd  them  both ; 
And  they  shall  know  who  prove  their  truth  for  ever. 

The  thought  was  agony  beyond  endurance ; 
"  O  thou,  my  brother  Man  !"  again  I  cried, 
"  Would  God,  that  I  might  live,  might  die  for  thee ! 
Oh  could  I  take,  a  form  to  meet  thine  eyes, 
Invent  a  voice  with  words  to  reach  thine  ears ; 
Or  if  my  spirit  might  converse  with  thine, 
And  pour  my  thoughts,  fears,  feelings,  through  thy  breast, 
Unknown  to  thee  whence  came  the  strange  intrusion  ! 


THE   PELICAN   ISLAND.  831 

How  would  my  soul  rejoice,  rejoice  with  Jrembling, 

To  tell  thee  who  thou  art,  and  bring  thee  home, 

— Poor  prodigal,  here  watching  swine,  and  fain 

To  glut  thy  hunger  with  the  husks  they  feed  on, — 

Home  to  our  Father's  house,  our  Father's  heart ! 

Both,  both  are  open  to  receive  thee, — come  ; 

Oh  come  ! — He  hears  not,  heeds  not, — O  my  brother ! 

That,!  might  prophesy  to  thee, — to  all 

The  millions  of  dry  bones  that  fill  this  valley 

Of  darkness  and  despair  ! — Alas !  alas  ! 

Can  these  bones  live  ?     Lord  God,  Thou  knowest.     Come 

From  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  almighty  breath, 

Blow  on  these  slain,  and  they  shall  live." 

I  spake, 

And  turning  from  the  mournful  contemplation, 
To  seek  refreshment  for  my  weary  spirit, 
Amidst  that  peopled  continent,  the  abode 
Of  misery  which  reach'd  beyond  this  world, 
I  lighted  on  a  solitary  glen 
(A  peaceful  refuge  in  a  land  of  discord) 
Crown'd  with  steep  rocks,  whose  hoary  summits  shone 
Amid  the  blue  unclouded  element, 
O'er  the  green  woods,  that,  stretching  down  the  hills, 
Border'd  the  narrow  champaign  glade  between, 
Through  which  a  clear  and  pebbly  rill  meander'd. 
The  song-birds  caroll'd  in  the  leafy  shades, 
Those  of  resplendent  plumage  flaunted  round ; 
High  o'er  the  cliffs  the  sea-fowl  soar'd  or  perch'd ; 
The  Pelican  and  Albatross  were  seen 
In  groups  reposing  on  the  northern  ridge : 
There  was  entire  serenity  above, 
Beauty,  tranquillity,  delight  below, 
And  every  motion,  sound,  and  sight  were  pleasing. 
Rhinoceros  nor  wild  bull  pastured  here ; 
Lion  nor  tiger  here  shed  innocent  blood  ; 
The  antelopes  were  grazing  void  of  fear. 
Their  young  in  antic  gambols  ramping  by ; 
While  goats,  from  precipice  to  precipice 


832  THE   PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Clamber'd,  or  huijg,  or  vaulted  through  the  air, 
As  if  a  thought  convey'd  them  to  and  fro.    . 
Harmony  reign'd,  as  once  ere  man's  creation, 
When  brutes  were  yet  earth's  sole  inhabitants. 
There  were  no  human  tracks  nor  dwellings  there, 
For  'twas  a  sanctuary  from  hurtful  creatures, 
And  in  the  precincts  of  that  happy  dell . 
The  absence  of  my  species  was  a  mercy : 
Thence  the  declining  sun  withdrew  his  beams, 
_  But  left  it  lighted  by  a  hundred  peaks, 
Glittering  and  golden,  round  the  span  of  sky, 
That  seem'd  the  sapphire  roof  of  one  great  temple, 
Whose  floor  was  emerald,  and  whose  walls  the  hills  ; 
Where  those  that  worshipp'd  God  might  worship  Him 
In  spirit  and  in  truth,  without  distraction. 

Man's  absence  pleased  me  ;  yet  on  man  alone, 
Man  fallen,  helpless,  miserable  man, 
My  thoughts,  prayers,  wishes,  tears,  and  sorrows  turn'd, 
Howe'er  I  strove  to  drive  away  remembrance : 
Then  I  refrain'd  no  longer,  but  brake  out, 
— "  Lord  God,  why  hast  Thou  made  all  men  in  vain  ?" 


CANTO  NINTH. 

THE  countenance  of  one  advanced  in  years, 
The  shape  of  one  created  to  command, 
The  step  of  one  accustom'd  to  be  seen, 
And  follow'd  with  the  reverence  of  all  eyes, 
Yet  conscious  here  of  utter  solitude, 
Came  on  me  like  an  apparition, — whence 
I  know  not, — halfway  down  the  vale  already 
Had  he  proceeded  ere  I  caught  his  eye, 
And  in  that  mirror  of  intelligence, 
By  the  sure  divination  of  mine  art 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  983 

Read  the  mute  history  of  his  former  life, 
And  all  the  untold  secrets  of  his  bosom. 

He  was  a  chieftain  of  renown ;  from  youth 
To  green  old  age,  the  glory  of  his  tribe, 
The  terror  of  their  enemies ;  in  war 
An  Alexander,  and  in  peace  an  Alfred,  '. 

From  morn  till  night  he  wont  to  yield  the  spear 
With  indefatigable  arm,  or  watch 
From  eve  till  dawn  in  ambush  for  his  quarry, 
Human  or  brute  ;  not  less  in  chase  than  fight, 
For  strength,  skill,  prowess,  enterprise  unrivall'd. 
Fearless  he  grappled  with  the  fell  hyaena, 
And  held  him  strangling  in  the  grasp  of  fate  ; 
He  seized  the  she-bear's  whelps,  and  when  the  dam 
With  miserable  cries  and  insane  rage 
Pursued  to  rescue  them,  would  turn  and  strike  » 
One  blow,  but  one,  to  break  her  heart  for  ever : 
From  sling  and  bow,  he  sent  upon  death-errands 
The  stone  or  arrow  through  the  trackless  air, 
To  overtake  the  fleetest  foot,  or  lay 
The  loftiest  pinion  fluttering  in  the  dust. 
On  the  rough  waves  he  eagerly  embark'd, 
Assail'd  the  stranded  whale  among  the  breakers, 
Dart  after  dart  with  such  sure  aim  implanting  * 

In  the  huge  carcass  of  the  helpless  victim, 
That  soon  in  blood  and  foam  the  monster  breathed 
His  last,  and  lay  a  hulk  upon  the  reef; 
Thence  floated  by  the  rising  tide,  and  tow'd 
By  a  whole  navy  of  canoes  ashore. 

But  'twas  the  hero's  mind  that  made  him  great ; 
His  eye,  his  lip,  his  hand,  were  clothed  with  thunder: 
Thrones,  crowns,  and  sceptres  give  not  more  ascendenco, 
Back'd  with  arm'd  legions,  fortified  with  towers, 
Than  this  imperial  savage,  all  alone, 
From  Nature's  pure  beneficence  derived. 
Yet,  when  the  hey-day  of  hot  youth  was  over, 
His  soul  grew  gentle  as  the  halcyon  breeze, 
Sent  from  the  evening-sea  to  bless  the  shore, 


I 

331  THE   PELICAN    ISLAND. 

After  the  fervours  of  a  tropic  noon  ; 

Nor  less  benign  his  influence  than  fresh  showers 

Upon  the  fainting  wilderness,  Avhere  bands 

Of  pilgrims,  bound  for  Mecca,  with  their  camels, 

Lie  down  to  die  together  in  despair, 

When  the  deceitful  mirage,  that  appear'd 

A  pool  of  water  trembling  in  the  sun, 

Hath  vanish'd  from  the  bloodshot  eye  of  thirst. 

Firm  in  defence  as  valiant  in  the  battle, 

Assailing  none,  but  all  assaults  repelling 

With  such  determined  chastisement,  that  foes 

No  longer  dared  to  forage  on  his  borders, 

War  shrunk  from  his  dominions  ;  simple  laws, 

Yet  wise  and  equitable,  he  ordain'd 

To  rule  a  willing  and  obedient  people. 

Blood  ceased  to  flow  in  sacrifice  ;  no  more 

The  parent's  hands  were  raised  against  their  children, 

Children  no  longer  slew  their  aged  parents  ; 

Man  prey'd  not  on  his  fellow-man,  within 

The  hallow'd  circle  of  his  patriarch-sway, 

That  seem'd  amidst  barbarian  clans  around 

A  garden  in  a  waste  of  brier  and  hemlock. 

Ere  life's  meridian,  thus  that  chief  had  reach'd 
The  utmost  pinnacle  of  savage  grandeur, 
And  stood  the  envy  of  ignoble  eyes, 
The  awe  of  humbler  mortals,  the  example 
Of  youth's  sublime  ambition ;  but  to  him, 
It  was  not  given  to  rest  at  any  height ; 
The  thoughts  that  travel  to  eternity 
Already  had  begun  their  pilgrimage, 
Which  time,  nor  change,  nor  life,  nor  death,  cculd  stop. 
All  that  he  saw,  heard,  felt,  or  could  conceive, 
Open'd  new  scenes  of  mental  enterprise, 
Imposed  new  tasks  for  arduous  contemplation. 
On  the  steep  eminence  which  he  had  scaled, 
To  rise  or  fall  were  sole  alternatives  ; 
He  might  not  stand,  and  he  disdain'd  to  fall 
Innate  magnificence  of  mind  upheld, 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 


And  buoyancy  of  genius  bore  him  on. 
Heaven,  earth,  and  ocean,  were  to  him  familiar 
In  idl  their  motions,  aspects,  changes ;  each 
To  him  paid  tribute  of  the  knowledge,  hid 
From  uninquiring  ignorance ;  to  him 
Their  gradual  secrets,  though  with  slow  reserve, 
Yet  sure  accumulation,  all  reveal'd. 

But  whence  they  came,  even  more  than  what  they  were, 
Awaken'd  wonder,  and  defied  conjecture  ; 
Blank  wonder  could  not  satisfy  his  soul, 
And  resolute  conjecture  would  not  yield, 
Though  foil'd  a  thousand  times,  in  speculation 
On  themes  that  open'd  immortality. 
The  gods  whom  his  deluded  countrymen 
Acknowledged,  were  no  gods  to  him  ;  he  scorn'd 
The  impotence  of  skill  that  carved  such  figures, 
And  pitied  the  fatuity  of  those 
Who  saw  not  in  the  abortions  of  their  hands 
The  abortions  of  their  minds. — 'Twas  the  Creator 
He  sought  through  every  volume  open  to  him, 
From  the  small  leaf  that  holds  an  insect's  web, 
From  which  ere  long  a  colony  shall  issue, 
With  wings  and  limbs  as  perfect  as  the  eagle's, 
To  the  stupendous  ocean,  that  gives  birth 
And  nourishment  to  everlasting  millions 
Of  creatures,  great  and  small,  beyond  the  power 
Of  man  to  comprehend  how  they  exist. 
One  thought  amidst  the  multitude  within  him 
Press'd  with  perpetual,  with  increasing  weight, 
And  yet  the  elastic  soul  beneath  its  burden 
Wax'd  strong  and  stronger,  was  enlarged,  exalted, 
With  the  necessity  of  bearing  up 
Against  annihilation  :  for  that  seem'd 
The  only  refuge  were  this  hope  forgone  : 
It  was  as  though  he  wrestled  with  an  angel, 
And  would  not  let  him  go  without  a  blessing, 
If  not  extort  the  secret  of  his  name  ; 
This  was  that  thought,  that  hope ;— dumb  idols, 


836  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

And  the  vain  homage  of  their  worshippers, 
Were  proofs  to  him,  not  less  than  sun  and  stars, 
That  there  were  beings  mightier  far  than  man, 
Or  man  had  never  dream'd  of  aught  above  him  : 
'Twas  clear  to  him  as  was  his  own  existence, 
In  which  he  felt  the  fact  personified, 
That  man  himself  was  for  this  world  too  mighty, 
Possessing  powers  which  could  not  ripen  here, 
But  ask'd  infinity  to  bring  them  forth, 
And  find  employ  for  their  unbounded  scope. 

Tradition  told  him,  that,  in  ancient  time, 
Sky,  sun,  and  sea  were  all  the  universe ; 
The  sun  grew  tired  of  gazing  on  the  sea, 
Day  after  day  ;  then,  with  descending  beams, 
Day  after  day  he  pierced  the -dark  abyss, 
Till  he  had  reach'd  its  diamantine  floor ; 
Whence  he  drew  up  an  island,  as  a  tree 
Grows  in  the  desert  from  some  random  seed, 
Dropt  by  a  wild  bird.     Grain  by  grain  it  rose, 
And  touch'd  at  length  the  surface  ;  there  expanding 
Beneath  the  fostering  influence  of  his  eye, 
Prolific  seasons,  light,  and  showers,  and  dew, 
Aided  by  earthquakes,  hurricanes,  volcanoes 
(All  agents  of  the  universal  sun), 
Conspired  to  form,  advance,  enrich,  and  break 
The  level  reef,  till  hills  and  dales  appear'd, 
And  the  small  isle  became  a  continent, 
Whose  bounds  his  ancestors  had  never  traced. 
Thither  in  time,  by  means  inscrutable, 
Plants,,  animals,  and  man  himself  was  brought ; 
And  with  the  idolaters  the  gods  they  served. 
These  tales  tradition  told  him ;  he  believed, 
Though  all  were  fables,  yet  they  shadow' d  truth; 
That  truth  with  heart,  soul,  mind,  and  strength  he  sought. 
Oh  'twas  a  spectacle  for  angels,  bound 
On  embassies  of  mercy  to  this  earth,  • 

To  gaze  on  with  compassion  and  delight, 
— Yea,  with  desire  that  they  might  be  his  helpers, — 


THE   PELICAN    ISLAND.  M7 


To  see  a  dark,  endungeon'd  spirit  roused, 
And  struggling  into  glorious  liberty, 
Though  Satan's  legions  watch'd  at  every  portal, 
And  held  him  by  ten  thousand  manacles  ! 

Such  was  the  being  whom  I  here  descried, 
And  fix'd  my  earnest  expectation  on  him ; 
For  now  or  never  might  my  hope  be  proved, 
How  near,  by  searching,  man  might  find  out  God. 

Thus,  while  he  walk'd  along  that  peaceful  valley, 
Though  rapt  in  meditation  far  above 
The  world  which  met  his  senses,  but  in  vain 
Would  charm  his  spirit  within  its  magic  circle, 
— Still  with  benign  and  meek  simplicity 
He  hearken'd  to  the  prattle  of  a  babe, 
Which  he  was  leading  by  the  hand ;  but  scarce 
Could  he  restrain  its  eagerness  to  break 
Loose,  and  run  wild  with  joy  among  the  bushes. 
It  was  his  grandson,  now  the  only  stay 
Of  his  bereaved  affections  ;  all  his  kin 
Had  fall'n  before  him,  and  his  youngest  daughter 
Bequeath'd  this  infant  with  her  dying  lips : 
"  Oh  take  this  child,  my  father !  take  this  child, 
And  bring  it  up  for  me  ;  so  may  it  live 
To  be  the  latest  blessing  of  thy  life." 
He  took  the  child  ;  he  brought  it  up  for  her ; 
It  was  the  latest  blessing  of  his  life  ; 
And  while  his  soul  explored  immensity, 
In  search  of  something  undefinedly  great, 
This  infant  was  the  link  which  bound  that  soul 
To  this  poor  world,  where  he  had  not  a  wish 
Or  hope,  beyond  the  moment,  for  himself. 

The  little  one  was  dancing  at  his  side, 
And  dragging  him  with  petty  violence 
Hither  and  thither  from  the  onward  path, 
To  find  a  bird's  nest  or  to  hunt  a  fly  : 
His  feign'd  resistance  and  unfeign'd  reluctance 
But  made  the  boy  more  resolute  to  rule 
The  grands! re  with  his  fond  caprice.     The  sage, 

I  3L.  I.  29 


338  THE   PELICAN    ISLAND. 


Though  dallying  with  the  minion's  Avayward  will, 

His  own  premeditated  course  pursued, 

And  while,  in  tones  of  sportive  tenderness, 

He  answer'd  all  its  questions,  and  ask'd  others 

As  simple  as  its  own,  yet  wisely  framed 

To  wake  and  prove  an  infant's  faculties ; 

As  though  its  mind  were  some  sweet  instrument, 

And  he,  with  breath  and  touch,  were  finding  out 

What  stops  or  keys  would  yield  the  richest  music : 

— All  this  was  by-play  to  the  scene  within 

The  busy  theatre  of  his  own  breast. 

Keen  and  absorbing  thoughts  were  working  there, 

And  his  heart  travail'd  with  unutter'd  pangs  ; 

Sigh  after  sigh,  escaping  to  his  lips, 

Was  check'd,  or  turn'd  into  some  lively  word, 

To  hide  the  bitter  conflict  from  his  child. 

At  length  they  struck  into  the  woods,  and  thence 
Climb'd  the  gray  rocks  aloof.     There  from  his  crag, 
At  their  abrupt  approach,  the  startled  eagle 
Took  wing  above  their  heads ;  the  boy  alarm'd, 
— Nor  less  delighted  when  no  peril  came, —  * 
.  Follow'd  its  flight  with  eyes  and  hands  upraised 
.  And  bounding  forward  on  the  verdant  slope, 
Watch'd  it  diminish,  till  a  gnat,  that  cross'd 
His  sight,  eclipsed  it :  when  he  look'd  again 
'Twas  gone,  and  for  an  instant  he  felt  sad, 
Till  some  new  object  won  his  gay  attention. 
His  grandsire  stepp'd  to  take  the  eagle's  stand, 
And  gaze  at  freedom  on  the  boundless  prospect, 
But  started  back,  and  held  his  breath  with  awe, 
So  suddenly,  so  gloriously  it  broke 
From  heaven,  earth,  sea,  and  air,  at  once  upon  him. 
The  tranquil  ocean  roll'd  beneath  his  feet ; 
The  shores  on  each  hand  lessen'd  from  the  view ; 
The  landscape  glow'd  with  tropical  luxuriance ; 
The  sky  was  fleck'd  with  gold  and  crimson  clouds. 
That  seem'd  to  emanate  from  nothing  there, 
Born  in  the  blue  and  infinite  expanse 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  339 

Where  just  before  the  eye  might  seek  in  vain 
An  evening  shadow  as  a  daylight  star. 

There  stood  the  patriarch  amidst  a  scene 
Of  splendour  and  beatitude  ;   himself 
A  diadem  of  glory  o'er  the  whole, 
For  none  but  he  could  comprehend  the  beauty, 
The  bliss  diffused  throughout  the  universe  ; 
Yet  holier  beauty,  higher  bliss  he  sought, 
Of  which  that  universe  was  but  the  veil, 
Wrought  with  inexplicable  hieroglyphics. 
Here  then  he  stood,  alone  but  not  forsaken 
Of  Him,  without  whose  leave  a  sparrow  falls  not. 
Wide  open  lay  the  Book  of  Deity, 
The  page  was  Providence  :  but  none,  alas  ! 
Had  taught  him  letters ;  when  he  look'd,  he  wept 
To  feel  himself  forbidden  to  peruse  it. 
— "Oh  for  a  messenger  of  mercy  now, 
Like  Philip,  when  he  join'd  the  Eunuch's  chariot 
Oh  for  the  privilege  to  burst  upon  him, 
And  show  the  blind,  the  dead,  the  light  of  life!" 

I  hush'd  the  exclamation,  for  he  seem'd 
To  hear  it ;  turn'd  his  head,  and  look'd  all  round, 
As  if  an  eye  invisible  beheld  him, 
A  voice  had  spoken  out  of  solitude: 
— Yea,  such  an  eye  beheld  him,  such  a  voice 
Had  spoken ;  but  they  were  not  mine  :  his  life 
He  would  have  yielded  on  the  spot,  to  see 
That  eye  ;  to  hear  that  voice,  and  understand  it : 
It  was  the  eye  of  God,  the  voice  of  Nature. 
All  in  a  moment  on  his  knees  he  fell  ;^ 
And  with  imploring  arms,  outstretch'd  to  heaven, 
And  eyes  no  longer  wet  with  hopeless  tears, 
But  beaming  forth  sublime  intelligence  ; 
In  words  through  which  his  heart's  pulsation  throbb'd, 
And  made  mine  tremble  to  their  accents, — pray'd : 
— "  Oh  !  if  there  be  a  Power  above  all  power, 
A  Light  above  all  light,  a  Name  above 
All  other  names,  in  heaven  and  earth ;  that  Power, 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 


That  Light,  that  Name  I  call  upon."—  He  paused, 

Bow'd  his  hoar  head  with  reverence,  closed  his  eyes 

And  with  clasp'd  hands  upon  his  breast,  began 

In  under  tones,  that  rose  in  fervency, 

Like  incense  kindled  on  a  holy  altar, 

Till  his  whose  soul  became  one  tongue  of  fire, 

Of  which  these  words  were  faint  and  poor  expressions 

—  "  Oh  !  if  Thou  art,  Thou  knowest  that  I  am  : 
Behold  me,  hear  me,  pity  me,  despise  not 

The  prayer,  which  —  if  Thou  art  —  Thou  hast  inspired, 

Or  wherefore  seek  I  now  a  God  unknown? 

And  feel  for  Thee,  if  haply  I  may  find 

In  whom  I  live  and  move  and  have  my  being  ? 

Reveal  Thyself  to  me  ;  reveal  thy  power, 

Thy  light,  thy  name  —  that  I  may  fear,  adore, 

Obey,  —  and,  oh  !  that  I  might  love  Thee  too  ! 

For,  if  Thou  art  —  it  must  be  —  Thou  art  good  ; 

And  I  would  be  the  creature  of  thy  goodness  : 

Oh  !  hear  and  answer  :  —  let  me  know  Thou  hearest  ! 

—  Know  that  as  surely  as  thou  art,  so  surely 
My  prayer  and  supplication  are  accepted." 

He  waited  silently  ;  there  came  no  answer  : 
The  roaring  of  the  tide  beneath,  the  gale 
Rustling  the  forest-leaves,  the  notes  of  birds, 
And  hum  of  insects,  —  these  were  all  the  sounds, 
That  met  familiarly  around  his  ear. 
He  look'd  abroad  ;  there  shone  no  light  from  heaven 
But  that  of  sunset  ;  and  no  shapes  appear'd 
But  glistering  clouds,  which  melted  through  the  sky 
As  imperceptibly  as  they  had  come  ; 
While  all  terrestrial  objects  seem'd  the  same 
A.S  he  had  ever  known  them  ;  —  still  he  look'd 
And  listen'd,  till  a  cold  sick  feeling  sunk 
Into  his  heart,  and  blighted  every  hope. 

Anon  faint  accents,  from  the  sloping  lawn 
Beneath  the  crag  where  he  was  kneeling,  rose, 
Like  supernatural  echoes  of  his  prayer  : 

—  "A  Name  above  all  names  —  I  call  upon.  —  • 


THE    PELICAN   ISLAND.  341 

Thou  art — Thou  knoxvest  that  I  am  : — Reveal 

Thyself  to  me  ; — but,  oh  !  that  I  may  love  Thee  ! 

For  if  Thou  art,  Thou  must  be  good  : — Oh  !  hear, 

And  let  me  knoxv  thou  hearest !" — Memory  fail'd 

The  child  ;  for  'txx-as  his  grandchild,  though  he  knew  not, 

— In  the  deep  transport  of  his  mind  he  knexv  not 

That  voice,  to  him  the  sweetest  often  thousand, 

And  known  the  best  because  the  best  beloved. 

Again  it  cried  : — "  Thou  art — Thou  must  be  good : 

—Oh!  hear, 

And  let  me  knoxv  thou  hearest." — Memory  fail'd 
The  child,  but  feeling  fail'd  not ;  tears  of  light 
Slid  down  his  cheek ;  he  too  xvas  on  his  knees, 
Clasping  his  little  hands  upon  his  heart, 
Unconscious  why,  yet  doing  xvhat  he  saxv 
His  grandsire  do,  and  saying  xvhat  he  sai-d. 
For  while  he  gather'd  buds  and  floxvers,  to  txvine 
A  garland  for  the  old  gray  hairs,  whose  locks 
Were  lovelier  in  his  sight  than  all  the  blooms 
On  xvhich  the  bees  and  butterflies  xvere  feasting, 
The  Patriarch's  agony  of  spirit  caught 
His  eye,  his  ear,  his  heart ;  he  dropt  the  floxvers, 
And  kneeling  doxvn  among  them,  xvept  and  pray'd 
Like  him,  xvith  whom  he  felt  such  strange  emotion? 
As  rapt  his  infant-soul  to  heavenly  heights; 
Though  xvhence  they  sprang,  and  what  they  meant,  he 

knexv  not ; 

But  they  xvere  good,  and  that  xvas  all  to  him, 
Who  xxxmder'd  xvhy  it  was  so  sxveet  to  xveep ; 
Nor  xvould  he  quit  his  humble  attitude, 
Nor  cease  repeating  fragments  of  that  lesson, 
Thus  learnt  spontaneously  from  lips,  xvhose  xvords 
Were  almost  dearer  to  him  than  their  kisses, 
When  on  his  lap  the  old  man  dandled  him, 
And  told  him  simple  stories  of  his  mother. 

Recovering  thought,  the  venerable  sire 
Beheld,  and  recognised  his  darling  boy, 
Thus  beautiful  and  innocent,  engaged 

28* 


312  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

• 

In  the  same  worship  with  himself.     His  heart 

Leap'd  at  the  sight :  he  flung  away  despondence, 

While  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory 

Broke  through  the  pagan  darkness  of  his  soul. 

He  ran  and  snatch'd  the  infant  in  his  arms, 

Embraced  him  passionately,  wept  aloud, 

And  cried,  scarce  knowing  what  he  said, — "My  Son! 

My  Son  !  there  is  a  God  !  there  is  a  God  !" — 

"And,  oh  !  that  I  may  love  Thee  too  !"  rejoin'd 

The  child,  whose  tongue  could  find  no  other  words 

Than  prayer ; — "  for  if  Thou  art,  Thou  must  be  good  "— 

— "  He  is  !   He  is  !  and  we  will  love  Him  too ! 

Yea,  and  be  like  Him, — good,  for  He  is  good !" 

Replied  the  ancient  father  in  amazement. 

Then  wept  they  o'er  each  other,  till  the  child 
Exceeded,  and  the  old  man's  heart  reproved  him 
For  lack  of  reverence  in  the  excess  of  joy : 
The  ground  itself  seem'd  holy!  heaven  and  earth 
Full  of  the  presence,  felt,  not  seen,  of  Him, 
The  Power  above  all  power,  the  Light  above 
All  light,  the  Name  above  all  other  names  ; 
Whom  he  had  call'd  upon,  whom  he  had  found. 
Yet  worshipp'd  only  as  "  the  Unknown  God,"— 
That  nearest  step  which  uninstructed  man 
Can  take,  from  Nature  up  to  Deity. 
To  Him,  again,  standing  erect,  he  pray'd, 
And  while  he  pray'd,  high  in  his  arms  he  held 
That  dearest  treasure  of  his  heart,  the  child 
Of  his  last  dying  daughter, — now  the  sole 
Hope  of  his  life,  and  orphan  of  his  house. 
He  held  him  as  an  offering  up  to  heaven, 
A  living  sacrifice  unto  the  God 
Whom  he  invoked  : — "  O  Thou  who  art !"  he  cried, 
"  And  hast  reveal'd  that  mystery  to  me, 
Hid  from  all  generations  of  my  fathers, 
Or,  if  once  known,  forgotten  and  perverted ; 
I  may  not  live  to  learn  Thee  better  here ; 
But  oh  !  let  this  my  son,  mine  only  son, 


THE    PELICAN    ISLAND.  «« 

» ~ 

Whom  thus  I  dedicate  to  Thee  ; — let  him, 

Let  him  be  taught  thy  will,  and  choose 

Obedience  to  it ; — may  he  fear  thy  power, 

Walk  in  thy  light,  now  dawning  out  of  darkness  ; 

And,  oh  !  my  last,  last  prayer, — to  him  reveal 

The  unutterable  secret  of  thy  name  !" 

He  paused ;  then  with  the  transport  of  a  seer 

Went  on  : — "  That  Name  may  all  my  nation  know ; 

And  all  that  hear  it  worship  at  the  sound, 

When  thou  shall  with  a  voice  from  heaven  proclaim  it , 

And  so  it  surely  shall  be." — 

"  For  thou  art ; 

And  if  Thou  art,  Thou  must  be  good  !"  exclaim'd 
The  child,  yet  panting  with  the  breath  of  prayer. 

They  ceased  ;  then  went  rejoicing  down  the  mountains, 
Through  the. cool  glen,  where  not  a  sound  was  heard, 
Amidst  the  dark  solemnity  of  eve, 
But  the  loud  purling  of  the  little  brook, 
And  the  low  murmur  of  the  distant  ocean. 
Thence  to  their  home  beyond  the  hills  in  peace 
They  walk'd;  and  when  they  reach'd  their  humble  threshold, 
The  glittering  firmament  was  full  of  stars. 
— He  died  that  night ;  his  grandchild  lived  to  see 
The  patriarch's  prayer  and  prophecy  fulfill'd. 

Here  end  my  song ;  here  ended  not  the  vision : 
I  heard  seven  thunders  uttering  their  voices, 
And  wrote  what  they  did  utter;  but  'tis  seal'd 
Within  the  volume  of  my  heart,  where  thought? 
Unbodied  yet  in  vocal  words  await 
The  quickening  warmth  of  poesy,  to  bring 
Their  forms  to  light  — like  secret  characters, 
Invisible  till  open'd  to  the  fire ; 
Or  like  the  potter's  paintings,  colourless 
Till  they  have  pass'd  to  glory  through  the  flames. 
Changes  more  wonderful  than  those  gone  by, 
More  beautiful,  transporting,  and  sublime, 
To  all  the  frail  affections  of  our  nature, 
To  all  the  immortal  faculties  of  man; 


344  THE    PELICAN    ISLAND. 

Such  changes  did  I  witness  ;  not  alone 
In  one  poor  Pelican  Island,  nor  on  one 
Barbarian  continent,  where  man  himself 
Could  scarcely  soar  above  the  Pelican : 
— The  world  as  it  hath  been  in  ages  past, 
The  world  as  now  it  is,  the  world  to  come, 
Far  as  the  eye  of  prophecy  can  pierce  ; — 
These  I  beheld,  and  still  in  memory's  rolls 
They  have  their  pages  and  their  pictures  ;  these, 
Another  day,  a  nobler  song  may  show. 

Vain  boast !  another  day  may  not  be  given  ; 
This  song  may  be  my  last ;  for  I  have  reach'd 
That  slippery  descent,  whence  man  looks  back 
With  melancholy  joy  on  all  he  cherish'd  ; 
Around,  with  love  unfeign'd,  on  all  he's  losing : 
Forward,  with  hope  that  trembles  while  it  turns 
To  the  dim  point  where  all  our  knowledge  ends. 
I  am  but  one  among  the  living ;  one 
Among  the  dead  I  soon  shall  be  ;  and  one 
Among  unnumber'd  millions  yet  unborn  ; 
The  sum  of  Adam's  mortal  progeny, 
From  Nature's  birthday  to  her  dissolution : 
• — Lost  in  infinitude,  my  atom-life 
Seems  but  a  sparkle  of  the  smallest  star, 
Amidst  the  scintillations  of  ten  thousand, 
Twinkling  incessantly  ;  no  ray  returning 
To  shine  a  second  moment,  where  it  shone 
Once,  and  no  more  for  ever : — so  I  pass, 
The  world  grows  darker,  lonelier,  and  more  silent, 
As  I  go  down  into  the  vale  of  years  ; 
For  the  grave's  shadows  lengthen  in  advance, 
And  the  grave's  loneliness  appals  my  spirit 
And  the  grave's  silence  sinks  into  my  hear. 
Till  I  forget  existence  in  the  thought 
Of  non-existence,  buried  for  a  while 
In  the  still  sepulchre  of  my  own  mind, 
Itself  imperishable  : — ah  !  that  word, . 
Like  the  archangel's  trumpet,  wakes  me  up 


THE   PELICAN   ISLAND.  M5 

"  » 

To  deathless  resurrection.     Heaven  and  earth 
Shall  pass  away,  but  that  which  thinks  within  me 
Must  think  for  ever ;  that  which  feels  must  feel : 
— I  am,  and  I  can  never  cease  to  be. 

Oh  thou  that  readest !  take  this  parable 
Home  to  thy  bosom ;  think  as  I  have  thought, 
And  feel  as  I  have  felt,  through  all  the  changes, 
Which  Time,  Life,  Death,  the  world's  great  actors,  wrought, 
While  centuries  swept  like  morning  dreams  before  me. 
And  thou  shall  find  this  moral  to  my  song : 
— Thou  art,  and-thou  canst  never  cease  to  be  : 
What  then  are  time,  life,  death,  the  world  to  thee  ? 
I  may  not  answer ;  ask  Eternity. 


THE  CHRONICLE  OF  ANGELS. 


THE  CHRONICLE  OF  ANGELS. 

The  following  Poem  having  been  suggested  by  the  perusal  of  a  manuscript 
treatise  on  "The  Holy  Angels,"  by  the  Author's  late  highly  esteemed  friend, 
R.  C.  Drackenbury,  of  Rahhby,  is  most  respectfully  inscribed  to  Mrs.  Brack 
enbury. 

PART  I. 

ALL  that  of  angels  GOD  to  man  makes  known, 
Here  by  the  light  of  his  clear  word  is  shown. 
'Tis  Jacob's  dream; — behold  the  ladder  rise, 
Resting  on  earth,  but  reaching  to  the  skies, 
Where  faith  the  radiant  hierarchies  may  trace 
Abroad  in  nature,  providence,  and  grace, 
Descending  and  returning  by  that  path, 
On  embassies  of  mercy  or  of  wrath ; 
Here  the  stone  pillow  and  the  desert-sod 
Become  the  gate  of  heaven,  the  house  of  GOD  ; 
— Put  ofFthy  shoes,  approach  with  awe  profound, 
The  place  on  which  thou  stand's!  is  holy  ground. 

Spirit  made  perfect,  spirit  of  the  just ! 
Thy  hand  which  traced  these  leaves  is  fall'n  to  dust 
Yet,  in  the  visions  of  eternity, 
Things  unconceivcd  by  mortals  'hou  canst  see, 
— Angels,  as  angels  stand  before  the  throne, 
By  thce  are  without  veil  or  symbol  known : 
Oh !  couldst  thou  add  one  brilliant  page,  and  tell 
What  those  pure  beings  are  who  never  fell, 
— Those  first-born  sons  of  GOD,  ere  time  began, 
Though  elder,  greater,  not  more  loved  than  man, 
Thrones,  principalities,  dominions,  powers, 
Cherub  or  seraph,  midst  empyreal  bowers, 
Who  in  themselves  their  Maker  only  see, 
And  live,  nnd  move,  and  dwell  in  Deity : 
— But  'tis  forbidden  ; — earthly  eye  nor  ear 
Heaven's  splendours  may  behold,  heaven's  secrets  hear : 

vol.  i.  30  3l'J 


350  THE    CHRONICLE    OF   ANGELS. 

To  flesh  and  blood  that  world  to  come  is  seal'd, 
Or  but  in  hieroglyphic  shades  reveal'd. 

We  follow  thee,  bless'd  saint !  our  tongues,  ere  long, 
May  learn  from  thine  the  church-triumphant's  song; 
For  well,  I  ween,  thy  minstrel  soul  of  fire 
Can  compass  all  the  notes  of  Raphael's  lyre ; 
— That  soul,  which  once,  beneath  the  body's  cloud, 
Sang,  like  an  unseen  sky-lark,  sweet  and  loud ; 
Louder  and  sweeter  now  thy  raptures  rise, 
Where  cloud  nor  sun  are  seen  in  purer  skies. 

But  what  of  angels  know  we  ? — Search  that  book 
On  which  the  eyes  of  angels  love  to  look, 
Desiring,  through  its  opening  seals,  to  trace 
The  heights  and  depths  of  that  transcendent  grace, 
Which  from  the  Father's  bosom  sent  the  Son, 
Himself  the  ransom  for  a  world  undone. 

First,  with  the  morning  stars  when  nature  sprang. 
These  sons  of  GOD  for  joy  together  sang ; 
Diviner  wonders  day  by  day  explored, 
Night  after  night  with  deeper  awe  adored  ; 
Till,  o'er  his  finish'd  Avork,  JEHOVAH  placed 
Man,  with  the  stamp  of  his  own  image  graced : 
Even  angels  paused  a  moment  then  to  gaze, 
Ere  burst  from  all  their  choirs  such  shouts  of  praise, 
As  not  in  heaven  at  their  own  birth  were  known, 
Nor  heard  when  Satan's  host  were  overthrown. 

When  man  lost  Eden  for  his  first  offence, 
The  swords  of  cherubim  expell'd  him  thence, 
Those  flaming  signs  of  heaven  with  earth  at  strife 
Turn'd  every  way  to  guard  the  tree  of  life. 

Angels,  thenceforth,  who  in  GOD'S  presence  stand, 
As  ministering  spirits,  travel  sea  and  land  ; 
Onward  or  upward,  rapt  through  air  and  sky, 
From  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven  they  fly ; 
Like  rays  diverging  from  the  central  sun, 
Which  through  the  darkness  of  creation  run, 
Enlightening  moons  and  planets  in  their  course, 
And  thence  reflected  seek  their  glorious  source 


THE   CHRONICLE    OF   ANGELS.  851 


PART  II. 

WIIKX  Abraham  dwelt  in  Mamre  angels  spoke, 
As  friend  to  friend,  with  him  beneath  the  oak  : 
With  flocks  and  herds,  with  wealth  and  servants  blest, 
Of  almost  more  than  heart  could  wish  possest, 
One  want  the  old  man  felt, — an  hopeless  one ! 
Oh  !  what  was  all  he  had  without  a  son  ? 
Heaven's  messengers  brought  tidings  to  his  ear, 
Which  nature,  dead  in  him,  found  hard  to  hear; 
Which  faith  itself  could  scarce  receive  for  joy, 
But  he  believed, — and  soon  embraced  a  boy  ; 
Nor,  while  the  line  of  Adam  shall  extend, 
Will  faithful  Abraham's  promised  issue  end. 

Hence,  when  his  lifted  arm  the  death-stroke  aim'd 
At  him,  whom  GOD  mysteriously  reclaim'd, 
At  him,  whom  GOD  miraculously  gave, 
An  angel  cried  from  heaven  the  youth  to  save, 
And  he  who  found  a  son  when  he  believed, 
That  son  again  as  from  the  dead  received. 

When  Hagar,  wo-bogone  and  desolate, 
Alone,  bt'side  the  desert  fountain  sate, 
And  o'er  her  unborn  babe  shed  bitter  tears, 
The  angel  of  the  LORD  allay'd  her  fears, 
And  pledged  in  fee  to  her  unportion'd  child 
The  lion's  range  o'er  Araby  the  wild  : 
"  Here  have  I  look'd  for  Him  whom  none  can  see ! 
She  cried  ; — "  and  found,  for  thou,  GOD,  seest  me !" 
— Again,  when  fainting  in  the  wilderness, 
An  angel-watcher  pitied  her  distress, 
To  Ishmarl's  lips  a  hidden  well  uriseal'd, 
And  the  long  wanderings  of  his  race  reveal'd, 
Who  still,  as  hunters,  warriors,  spoilers,  roam, 
Their  steeds  their  riches,  sands  and  sky  their  home. 
Angels  o'erthrew  the  cities  of  the  plain. 
With  fire  and  brimstone  in  tempestuous  rain, 


85*  THE    CHRONICLE    OF   ANGELS. 

And  from  the  wrath  which  heartless  sinners  braved, 
Lot,  with  the  violence  of  mercy,  saved ; 
.  No\y  where  the  region  breathed  with  life  before, 
Stands  a  dead  sea  where  life  can  breathe  no  more. 
When  Jacob,  journeying  with  his  feeble  bands, 
Trembled  to  fall  into  a  brother's  hands  ; 
At  twilight,  lingering  in  the  rear,  he  saw 
GOD'S  host's  around  his  tents  their  'campment  draw  : 
• — While,  with  a  stranger,  in  mysterious  strife, 
Wrestling  till  break  of  day  for  more  than  life ; 
He  pray'd,  he  wept,  he  cried  in  his  distress, 
"  I  will  not  let  thee  go  except  thou  bless  !" 
Lame  with  a  touch,  he  halted  on  his  thigh, 
Yet  like  a  prince  had  power  with  GOD  Most  High. 

Nine  plagues  in  vain  had  smitten  Pharaoh's  land, 
Ere  the  destroying  angel  stretch'd  his  hand, 
Whose  sword,  wide  flashing  through  Egyptian  gloom, 
Lighted  and  struck  their  first-born  to  the  tomb ; 
Through  all  the  realm  a  cry  at  midnight  spread. 
For  not  a  house  was  found  without  one  dead. 

When  Balaam,  blinded  by  the  lure  of  gold, 
To  curse  whom  GOD  would  bless,  his  heart  had  sold, 
A  wrathftil  angel,  with  high  brandish'd  blade, 
Invisible  to  him,  his  progress  stay'd, 
Nor  till,  with  human  voice,  his  own  dumb  ass 
Rebuked  the  prophet's  madness,  let  him  pass. 

When  Joshua  led  the  tribes  o'er  Jordan's  flood, 
The  captain  of  God's  host  before  him  stood, 
He  fell,  and  own'd,  adoring,  on  his  face, 
A  power  whose  presence  sanctified  the  place. 

When  Deborah  from  beneath  her  palm-tree  rose, 
GOD  into  woman's  hands  sold  Israel's  foes  ; 
They   fought    from   heaven, — 'twas    heaven    deliverance 
Stars  in  their  courses  against  Sisera  fought.          [wrought, 

They  sinn'd  again,  and  fell  beneath  the  yoke  ; 
To  Gideon  then'  their  guardian  angel  spoke  ; 
Three  hundred  warriors  chosen  at  the  brook,     . 
Pitchers  for  arms,  with  lamps  and  trumpets  took ; 


THE    CHRONICLE    OF   ANGELS.  p  353 

They  brake  the  vessels,  raised  the  lights,  and  blew 

A  blast  which  Midian's  startled  hosts  o'erthrew ; 

Foe  fell  on  foe,  and  friend  his  friend  assail'd ; 

— The  sword  of  GOD  and  Gideon  thus  prevail'd. 

When  David's  heart  was  lifted  up  with  pride, 

And  more  on  multitudes  than  GOD  relied, 

Three  days,  an  angel  arm'd  with  pestilence, 

Smote  down  the  people  for  the  king's  offence ; 

Yet  when  his  humbled  soul  for  Israel  pray'd, 

Heaven  heard  his  groaning,  and  the  plague  was  stay'd ; 

He  kncel'd  between  the  living  and  the  dead, 

Ev*en  as  the  sword  came  down  o'er  Zion's  head ; 

Then  went  th'  Almighty's  voice  throughout  the  land, 

"  It  is  enough ;  avenger !  rest  thine  hand." 

Elijah,  with  his  mantle,  smote  the  flood, 
And  Jordan's  hastening  waves  divided  stood ; 
The  fiery  chariot,  on  the  further  shore, 
Deathless  to  heaven  th'  ascending  prophet  bore : 
"  My  father !"  cried  Elisha,  as  he  flew ; 
"  Lo !  Israel's  chariot  and  his  horsemen  too :" 
Then  with  the  mantle,  as  it  dropp'd  behind, 
Came  down  a  power,  like  mighty  rushing  wind, 
And  as  he  wrapt  the  trophy  round  his  breast, 
Elijah's  spirit  Elisha's  soul  possess'd. 
— He,  when  the  Syrian  bands,  as  with  a  net 
Of  living  links,  close  drawn,  his  home  beset, 
Pray'd, — and  his  trembling  servant  saw  amazed, 
How  Dothan's  mountain  round  the  prophet  blazed ; 
Chariots  of  fire  and  horses  throng'd  the  air, 
And  more  were  for  them  than  against  them  there. 

When  pale  Jerusalem  heard  Sennacherib's  boast, 
How,  in  their  march  of  death,  his  locust  host 
Swept  field  and  forest,  rivers  turn'd  aside, 
Crush'd  idols,  and  the  living  GOD  defied, 
—While  fear  within  the  walls  sad  vigils  kept, 
And  the  proud  foe  without  securely  slept,' 
At  midnight,  through  the  camp,  as  with  a  blast, 
Hot  from  Arabian  sands,  an  angel  pass'd ; 

30* 


S54 


THE    CHRONICLE   OF   ANGELS. 


And  when  the  city  rose  at  dawn  of  day, 
An  army  of  dead  men  around  it  lay  ! 

Down  in  the  raging  furnace,  bound  they  fell, 
Three  Hebrew  youths, — when,  lo  !  a  miracle  ; 
At  large,  amidst  the  sevenfold  flames  they  walk'd, 
And,  as  in  Eden,  with  an  angel  talk'd ; 
Up  rose  the  king,  astonied  and  in  haste  ; 
"  Three  men,"  he  cried,  into  the  fires  we  cast ; 
Four  I  behold, — and  in  the  fourth,  the  mien 
And  semblance  of  the  Son  of  GOD  are  seen." 

While  Daniel  iay  beneath  the  lion's  paws, 
And  angels  shut  the  death-gates  of  their  jaws, 
Which,  ere  his  headlong  foes  had  reach'd  the  floor, 
Crush'd  all  their  bones,  and  revell'd  in  their  gore. 

Angels  to  prophets  things  to  come  reveal'd, 
And  things  yet  unfulfill'd  in  symbols  sealed, 
When  in  deep  visions  of  the  night  they  lay, 
And  hail'd  the  dawn  of  that  millennial  day, 
For  which  the  church  looks  out  with  earnest  eye, 
And  counts  the  moments  as  the  hour  draws  nigh. 

Thus  angels  oft  to  man's  rebellious  race, 
Were  ministers  of  vengeance  or  of  grace  ; 
And,  in  the  fulness  of  the  time  decreed, 
Glad  heralds  of  the  woman's  promised  seed. 


PART  III. 

To  Zacharias,  with  his  spouse  grown  old, 
John  the  forerunner's  course  an  angel  told  ; 
Struck  dumb  for  unbelief,  the  father's  tongue 
At  the  babe's  birth  for  joy  brake  loose  and  sung. 

To  Mary,  highly  favour'd,  Gabriel  brought 
An  embassy  of  love  transcending  thought ; 
With  fear  and  meekness,  hearkening  to  his  word, 
"  Behold,"  said  she,  "  the  handmaid  of  the  LORD." 


THE    CHRONICLE    OF   ANGELS.  355 

When  Christ  was  born,  that  messenger  once  more 
Good  tidings  to  the  Bethlehem  shepherds  bore ; 
When  suddenly  with  him  th'  angelic  throngs 
Turn'd  night  to  morning,  earth  to  heaven  with  songs. 

When  Herod  sought  the  young  child's  life, — by  night, 
An  angel  warn'd  his  foster-sire  to  flight; 
But  when  the  murderer's  race  of  blood  was  run, 
JEHOVAH  out  of  Egypt  call'd  his  Son. 

When  by  the  Spirit  to  the  desert  led, 
Our  Saviour  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head ; 
With  hunger,  thirst,  fa'.igue,  and  watching  worn, 
When  he  the  tempter's  dire  assaults  had  borne, 
Still  with  the  written  word  his  wiles  repell'd, 
Though  long  in  that  mysterious  conflict  held, 
Till  the  foil'd  fiend  at  length  shrunk  back  with  shame, 
—Angels  to  minister  unto  him  came. 

In  lone  Gethsemane's  most  dolorous  shade, 
When  in  such  agony  of  soul  he  pray'd, 
That  like  great  blood-drops  falling  to  the  ground 
Burst  the  dark  sweat  from  every  pore  around, 
An  angel, — from  twelve  legions  marshall'd  nigh, 
Who  waited  but  the  signal  of  his  eye, — 
Cast  o'er  the  Son  of  GOD  his  shadowing  winar, 
To  strengthen  him  whom  angels  call  their  King. 

Round  the  seaPd  sepulchre  where  Jesus  slept, 
Angels  their  watch  till  the  third  morning  kept ; 
They  hail'd  the  earthquake,  they  beheld  him  rise, 
Death's  victim,  now  death's  victor,  to  the  skies. 

While  woman's  faithful  love  the  tomb  survey'd 
In  which  her  hands  his  lifeless  limbs  had  laid ; 
With  lightning  looks,  and  raiment  snowy-white, 
At  whom  as  dead  the  guards  fell  down  in  fright, 
A  mighty  angel, — he  who  roll'd  the  stone 
From  the  cave's  mouth, — the  LORD'S  uprise  made  known. 

Angels,  to  his  disciples,  while  they  saw 
Their  glorious  Master  in  a  cloud  withdraw, 
*Ascend  and  vanish  through  th'  expanding  skies, 
And  follow'd  him  with  failing  hearts  and  eyes, 


356  THE    CHRONICLE    OF    ANEGLS. 

Foretold  his  second  advent,  in  that  day 

When  heaven  and  earth  themselves  shall  pass  away. 

Angels  unseen,  as  ministering  spirits  went, 
•  When  forth  the  chosen  witnesses  were  sent, 
With  power  from  high  to  preach,  where'er  they  trod, 
The  glorious  gospel  of  the  blessed  GOD. 
Angels  made  straight  their  paths  o'er  land  and  sea, 
•Threw  wide  their  prison -doors  and  let  them  free, 
Smote  slaughter-breathing  Herod  on  his  throne, 
Led  Philip  where  the  Eunuch  sat  alone, 
Taught  meek  Cornelius,  from  what  lips  his  ear 
Might  "  words  whereby  he  must  be  saved"  hear ; 
And  stood  by  fearless  Paul,  when,  tempest-driven, 
The  whole  ship's  company  to  him  were  given. 

Good  angels  still  conduct,  from  age  to  age, 
Salvation's  heirs,  on  nature's  pilgrimage ; 
Cherubic  swords,  no  longer  signs  of  strife, 
Now  point  the  way,  and  keep  the  tree  of  life ; 
Seraphic  hands,  with  coals  of  living  fire, 
The  lips  of  Goo's  true  messengers  inspire ; 
Angels,  who  see  their  heavenly  Father's  face, 
Watch  o'er  his  little  ones  with  special  grace ; 
Still  o'er  repenting  sinners  they  rejoice, 
And  blend  their  myriad  voices  as  one  voice. 

Angels,  with  healing  virtue  in  their  wings, 
Trouble  dead  pools,  unsluice  earth's  bosom-springs, 
Till  fresh  as  new-born  life  the  waters,  roll ; 
Lepers  and  lame  step  in  and  are  made  whole. 

Angels,  the  saints  from  noonday  perils  keep, 
And  pitch  their  tents  around  them  while  they  sleep  ; 
Uphold  them  when  they  seem  to  walk  alone, 
Nor  let  them  dash  their  feet  against  a  stone ; 
They  teach  the  dumb  to  speak,  the  blind  to  see, 
Comfort  the  dying  in  their  agony, 
And  to  the  rest  of  paradise  convey 
Spirits  enfranchised  from  the  crumbling  clay. 

Strong  angels,  arm'd  by  righteous  Providence, 
Judgments  on  guilty  nations  still  dispense, 


THE   CHRONICLE    OF   ANGELS.  SS7 

Pour  out  their  full-charged  vials  of  despair 
And  death,  o'er  sun,  and  sea,  and  earth,  and  air ; 
Or  sound  their  trumpets,  while  at  every  blast, 
Plague  follows  plague,  wo  treads  on  wo  gone  past. 

Bright  angels,  through  mid-heaven  shall  hold  their  flight 
Till  all  that  sit  in  darkness  see  the  light, 
Still  the  good  tidings  of  great  joy  proclaim, 
Till  every  tongue  confess  a  Saviour's  name. 

Th'  archangel's  voice,  the  trump  of  GOD,  the  cry' 
Of  startled  nature,  rending  earth  and  sky, 
Shall  change  the  living,  raise  the  dead,  and  bring 
All  nations  to  the  presence  of  their  King, 
Whose  flaming  ministers,  on  either  hand, 
Ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  ano-els  stand, 
To  witness  time's  full  roll  for  ever  seal'd, 
And  that  eternity  to  come  reveal'd, 
— That  era  in  the  reign  of  Deity, 
When  sin,  the  curse,  and  death  no  more  can  be. 
Angels  who  fell  not,  men  who  fell  restored, 
Shall  then  rejoice  in  glory  with  the  LORD  : 
— Hearts,  harps  and  voices,  in  one  choir  shall  raise 
The  new,  the  old,  th'  eternal  song  of  praise. 

May  ye  who  read,  with  him  who  wrote  this  strain. 
Join  in  that  song,  and  worship  in  that  train  ! 


SONGS  ON  SLAVERY,  SONNETS,  ETC. 


SONGS 

ON 

THE  ABOLITION  OF  NEGRO  SLAVERY 


NO.    I. THE   RAINBOW. 

SIGN  of  the  passing  storm, 

Symbol  of  wrath  gone  by, 
Born  of  the  cloud  and  sun, — what  form 

Of  beauty  tracks  the  sky  ? 
From  Afric  to  the  isles  of  slaves 
The  rainbow  spans  th'  Atlantic  waves. 

Black,  white,  and  bond,  and  free, 
Castes  and  proscriptions  cease ; 

The  Negro  wakes  to  liberty, 
The  Negro  sleeps  in  peace ; 

Read  the  great  charter  on  his  brow, 

"  I  AM  a  MAN,  a  BROTHER  HOW." 


NO.  n. THE  NEGRO  IS  FREE. 

(To  Moore'i  melody  of  "Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt'f  dark  lea."] 

BLOW  ye  the  trumpet  abroad  o'er  the  sea ; 
Britannia  hath  conquer'd,  the  Negro  is  free : 
Sing,  for  the  pride  of  the  tyrant  is  broken, 

His  scourges  and  fetters,  all  clotted  with  blood, 
Are  wrench'd  from  his  grasp,  for  the  word  was  but  spoken, 

And  fetters  and  scourges  were  plunged  in  the  flood : 
Blow  ye  the  trumpet  abroad  o'er  the  sea, 
Britannia  hath  conquer'd,  the  Negro  is  free. 

31  361 


SONGS    ON    THE    ABOLITION 


Hail  to  Britannia,  fair  liberty's  isle  ! 

Her  frown  quail'd  the  tyrant,  the  slave  caught  her  smile : 

Fly  on  the  winds,  to  tell  Afric  the  story  ; 

Say  to  the  mother  of  mourners,  "  Rejoice  !" 
Britannia  went  forth,  in  her  beauty,  her  glory, 

And  slaves  sprang  to  men  at  the  sound  of  her  voice : 
— Praise  to  the  God  of  our  fathers  ;  'twas  He, 
JEHOVAH,  that  conquer'd,  my  country !  by  thee 


NO.    III. SLAVERY    THAT    WAS. 

AGES,  ages  have  departed 

Since  the  first  dark  vessel  bore 

Afric's  children,  broken-hearted, 
To  the  Caribbean  shore  ; 

She  like  Rachel, 
Weeping,  for  they  were  no  more. 

Millions,  millions  have  been  slaughtered 
In  the  fight  and  on  the  deep  ; 

Millions,  millions  more  have  water'd, 
With  such  tears  as  captives  weep, 

Fields  of  travail, 
Where  their  bones  till  doomsday  sleep. 

Mercy,  mercy  vainly  pleading, 

Rent  her  garments,  smote  her  breast, 

Till  a  voice,  from  heaven  proceeding, 
Gladden'd  all  the  gloomy  west, 

"  Come,  ye  weary ! 
Come,  and  I  will  give  you  rest !" 

Tidings,  tidings  of  salvation ! 

Britons  rose  with  one  accord, 
Purged  the  plague-spot  from  our  nation, 

Negroes  to  their  rights  restored ; 
Skves  no  longer, 

FREE-MEN, — FREE-MEN  of  the  LORD. 


OF   NEGRO    SLAVERY. 


803 


NO.  IV. SLAVERY    THAT    IS    NOT. 

GOD  made  all  his  creatures  free ; 
Life  itself  is  liberty  ; 
GOD  ordain'd  no  other  hands 
Than  united  hearts  and  hands. 

Sin  th'  eternal  charter  broke, 
—Sin,  itself  earth's  heaviest  yoke 
Tyranny  with  sin  began, 
Man  o'er  brute,  and  man  o'er  man. 

Pass  five  thousand  pagan  years 
Of  creation's  groans  and  tears ; 
To  oppression's  climax  come, 
In  the  crimes  of  Christendom. 

What  were  these  ? — Let  Afric's  sands, 
Ocean's  depths,  West  Indian  strands, 
In  the  day  of  wrath  declare : 
—Oh!  the  mercy  that  they  were;— 
For  they  are  not, — cannot  be; 
Life  again  is  liberty  ; 
A.nd  the  Negro's  only  bands 
Love-knit  hearts,  and  love-link'd  hands 

So  the  plague  of  slavery  cease ! 
So  return  primeval  peace  ! 
While  the  ransom'd  tribes  record 
All  the  goodness  of  the  LORD. 


NO.  v. — THE  NEGRO'S  VIOIL  : 

Olf  TUB  EVK  OF  THE  FIRST  OF   AUGUST,    1834. 

"Tiny  that  watch  for  the  morning :— they  that  watch  for  the  morning." 

Ptalm  cziz.  & 

HIE  to  the  mountain  afar 

All  in  the  cool  of  the  even ; 
Led  by  yon  beautiful  star, 

First  of  the  daughters  of  heaven : 


3M         SONGS   ON    THE   ABOLITION    OF   NEGRO    SLAVERY. 

Sweet  to  the  slave  is  the  season  of  rest, 

Something  far  sweeter  he  looks  for  to-night ; 

His  heart  lies  awake  in  the  depth  of  his  breast, 

And  listens  till  GOD  shall  say,  "Let  there  be  light!" 

Climb  we  the  mountain,  and  stand 

High  in  mid-air,  to  inhale, 
Fresh  from  our  old  father-land, 

Balm  in  the  ocean-borne  gale : 
Darkness  yet  covers  the  face  of  the  deep ; 

Spirit  of  freedom !  go  forth  in  thy  might, 
To  break  up  our  bondage  like  infancy's  sleep, 

The  moment  when  GOD  shall  say,  "Let  there  be 
light  r 

Gaze  we,  meanwhile,  from  his  peak ; 
Praying  in  thought  while  we  gaze ; 
Watch  for  the  morning's  first  streak, 
Prayer  then  be  turn'd  into  praise  ; 
Shout  to  the  valleys,  "  Behold  ye  the  morn, 

Long,  long  desired  but  denied  to  our  sight :" 
Lo,  myriads  of  slaves  into  men  are  new-born ; 

The  word  was  omnipotent,  "  Let  there  be  light!" 

Hear  it  and  hail  it ; — the  call, 

Island  to  island  prolong ; 
Liberty  !  liberty ! — all 

Join  in  the  jubilee-song : 
Hark !  'tis  the  children's  hosannas  that  ring ; 

Hark !  they  are  free-men  whose  voices  unite ; 
While  England,  the  Indies,  and  Africa  sing, 

«  AMEN,  HALLELUJAH  !"  at  "  Let  there  be  light!" 


SONNETS, 
IMITATIONS,  AND  TRANSLATIONS. 


A  SEA-PIECE. 

IN   THREE    SONNETS. 

SCESE.— Bndlinfton  Quay,  1824. 

I. 

AT  nightfall,  walking  on  the  cliff-crown'd  shore, 

Where  sea  and  sky  were  in  each  other  lost ; 

Dark  ships  were  scudding  through  the  wild  uproar, 

Whose  wrecks  ere  morn  must  strew  the  dreary  coast; 

I  raark'd  one  well-moor'd  vessel  tempest-tost, 

Sails  reef'd,  helm  lash'd,  a  dreadful  siege  she  bore, 

Her  deck  by  billow  after  billow  cross'd, 

While  every  moment  she  might  be  no  more : 

Yet  firmly  anchor'd  on  the  nether  sand, 

Like  a  chain'd  Lion  ramping  at  his  foes, 

Forward  and  rearward  still  she  plunged  and  rose, 

Till  broke  her  cable ; — then  she  fled  to  land, 

With  all  the  waves  in  chase  ;  throws  following  throes , 

She  'scaped, — she  struck, — she  stood  upon  the  strand 

II. 

The  morn  'wns  beautiful,  the  storm  gone  by ; 
Three  days  had  pass'd ;  I  saw  the  peaceful  main, 
One  molten  mirror,  one  illumined  plane, 
Clear  as  the  blue,  sublime,  o'erarching  sky : 
On  shore  that  lonely  vessel  caught  mine  eye, 

5P  365 


see  SONNETS. 

Her  bow  was  seaward,  all  equipt  her  train, 
Yet  to  the  sun  she  spread  her  wings  in  vain, 
Like  a  caged  Eagle,  impotent  to  fly ; 
There  fix'd  as  if  for  ever  to  abide  ; 
Far  down  the  beach  had  roll'd  the  low  neap-tide, 
Whose  mingling  mtirmur  faintly  lulPd  the  ear : 
"  Is  this,"  methought,  "  is  this  the  doom  of  pride, 
Check'd  in  the  onset  of  thy  brave  career, 
Ingloriously  to  rot  by  piecemeal  here  ?" 

III. 

Spring-tides  return'd,  and  Fortune  smiled  ;  the  bay 
Received  the  rushing  ocean  to  its  breast ; 
While  waves  on  waves  innumerably  prest, 
Scem'd,  with  the  prancing  of  their  proud  array, 
Sea-horses,  flash'd  with  foam,  and  snorting  spray ; 
Their  power  and  thunder  broke  that  vessel's  rest ; 
Slowly,  with  new  expanding  life  possest, 
To  her  own  element  she  glid  away  ; 
Buoyant  and  bounding  like  the  polar  Whale, 
That  takes  his  pastime  ;  every  joyful  sail 
Was  to  the  freedom  of  the  wind  unfurl' d, 
While  right  and  left  the  parted  surges  curl'd  : 
— Go,  gallant  Bark,  with  such  a  tide  and  gale, 
I'll  pledge  thee  to  a  voyage  round  the  world. 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY, 

ON   THE   TWENTY-EIGHTH   OF   JUNE,    1838. 
TO   THE    QUEEN. 

THE  orb  and  sceptre  in  thy  hands  they  placed, 
On  thine  anointed  head  a  crown  of  gold; 

A  purple  robe  thy  virgin  form  embraced ; 
Enthroned  thou  wert,  all-glorious  to  behold : 
Before  thee  lay  the  Book  of  God  unroll'd ; 

Thy  tongue  pronounced,  thy  pen  the  covenant  traced, 
Which  men  and  angels  witness'd ; — young  and  old, 


L 


IMITATIONS.  387 


Peers,  princes,  statesmen,  birth  and  beauty  graced 
That  scene  of  tombs  and  trophies.     All  is  fled  ; 

Like  liie  itself,  the  living  pass'd  away, 
And  none  that  met  remain'd  there  but  the  dead ! 
— Thence  to  thy  closet  didst  thou  not  retreat, 

In  secret  to  thy  heavenly  Father  pray, 
And  cast  thyself  and  kingdom  at  his  feet  ? 


SONNET. 

IMITATED    FROM   THE   ITALIAN    OF    GAETANA   PASSERIN1. 

IF  in  the  field  I  meet  a  smiling  flower, 

Methinks  it  whispers,  "  GOD  created  me, 

And  I  to  Him  devote  my  little  hour, 

In  lonely  sweetness  and  humility." 

If,  where  the  forest's  darkest  shadows  lower, 

A  serpent  quick  and  venomous  I  see, 

It  seems  to  say, — "  I,  too,  extol  the  power 

Of  Him,  who  caused  me,  at  his  will,  to  be." 

The  fountain  purling,  and  the  river  strong, 

The  rocks,  the  trees,  the  mountains  raise  one  song ; 

"  Glory  to  GOD  !"  re-echoes  in  mine  ear : 

Faithless  were  I,  in  wilful  error  blind, 

Did  I  not  Him  in  all  his  creatures  find, 

His  voice  through  heaven,  and  earth,  and  ocean  hear. 


THE  OAK. 

IMITATED    FROM   THE    ITALIAN    OF   METASTASIO. 

THE  tall  Oak,  towering  to  the  skies, 
The  fury  of  the  wind  defies, 
From  age  to  age,  in  virtue  strong, 
Inured  to  stand,  and  suffer  wrong. 

O'erwhclm'd  at  length  upon  the  plain, 
It  puts  forth  wings,  and  s\ve<>ps  the  main ; 
The  self-same  foe  undaunted  braves, 
And  fights  the  wind  upon  the  waves. 


368  IMITATIONS. 


SONNET. 

IMITATED    FROM  THE   ITALIAN    OF    GIAMBATTISTA   COTTA. 

I  SAW  th'  eternal  GOD,  in  robes  of  light, 

Rise  from  his  throne, — to  judgment  forth  he  came  ; 

His  presence  pass'd  before  me,  like  the -flame 

That  fires  the  forest  in  the  depth  of  night : 

Whirlwind  and  storm,  amazement  and  affright, 

Compass'd  his  path,  and  shook  all  Nature's  frame, 

When  from  the  heaven  of  heavens,  with  loud  acclaim, 

To  earth  he  wing'd  his  instantaneous  flight. 

As  some  triumphal  oak,  whose  boughs  have  spread 

Their  changing  foliage  through  a  thousand  years, 

Bows  to  the  rushing  wind  its  glorious  head, 

The  universal  arch  of  yonder  spheres 

Sunk  with  the  pressure  of  its  Maker's  tread, 

And  earth's  foundations  quaked  with  mortal  fears. 


SONNET. 

THE    CRUCIFIXION. 

IMITATED   FROM  THE   ITALIAN    OF    CRESCIMBENI. 

I  ASK'D  the  Heavens, — "  What  foe  to  GOD  hath  done 

This  unexampled  deed?" — The  Heavens  exclaim, 
"  'Twas  Man ; — and  we  in  horror  snatch'd  the  sun 

From  such  a  spectacle  of  guilt  and  shame." 
I  ask'd  the  Sea ; — the  Sea  in  fury  boil'd, 

And  answer'd  with  his  voice  of  storms,  "  'Twas  Man : 
My  waves  in  panic  at  his  crime  recoil'd, 

Disclosed  th'  abyss,  and  from  the  centre  ran." 
I  ask'd  the  Earth ; — the  Earth  replied  aghast, 

"  'Twas  Man  ; — and  such  strange  pangs  my  bosom  rent. 
That  still  I  groan  and  shudder  at  the  past." 

— To  Man,  gay,  smiling,  thoughtless  Man,  I  went, 
And  ask'd  him  next : — He  turn'd  a  scornful  eye, 
Shook  his  proud  head,  and  deign'd  me  no  reply. 


IMITATIONS.  189 


SONNET. 

IMITATED   FROM  THE   ITALIAN    OF  P.    SALANDRI. 
TO   A    BRIDE. 

THE  more  divinely  beautiful  thou  art, 

Lady  !  of  love's  inconstancy  beware  : 

Watch  o'er  thy  charms,  and  with  an  angel's  care 

Oh  !  guard  thy  maiden  purity  of  heart : 

At  every  whisper  of  temptation  start ; 

The  lightest  breathings  of  unhallow'd  air 

Love's  tender,  trembling  lustre  will  impair, 

Till  all  the  light  of  innocence  depart. 

Fresh  from  the  bosom  of  an  Alpine  hill, 
When  the  coy  fountain  sparkles  into  day, 
And  sunbeams  bathe  and  brighten  in  its  rill ; 
If  here  a  plant,  and  there  a  flower,  in  play, 
Bending  to  sip,  the  little  channel  fill, 
It  ebbs,  and  languishes,  and  dies  away. 


SONNET. 

IMITATED    FROM   THE   ITALIAN    OF   SAETANA    PASSERIWI. 
ON   THE    SIEGE    OF    GENOA    BY   THE   FRENCH    ARMY   IN    !«•*. 

Liberty  speaks. 

"  MY  native  Genoa !  if  with  tearless  eye, 
Prone  in  the  dust  thy  beauteous  form  I  see, 
Think  not  thy  daughter's  heart  is  dead  to  thee ; 
'Twere  treason,  O  my  mother !  here  to  sigh, 
For  here,  majestic  though  in  ashes,  lie 
Trophies  of  valour,  skill,  and  constancy; 
Here  at  each  glance,  each  footstep,  I  descry 
The  proud  memorials  of  thy  love  to  me. 

"Conquest  to  noble  suffering  lost  the  day, 
And  glorious  was  thy  vengeance  on  the  foe, 
—He  saw  thec  perish,  yet  not  feel  the  blow." 
Thus  Liberty,  exulting  on  her  way, 
Kiss'd  the  dear  relics,  mouldering  as  they  Iny, 
And  ciped, — "  In  ruins  ? — Yt  i/ — In  slavery  ? — No?' 


170  IMITATIONS. 


SONNET. 

IMITATED   FROM   THE   ITALIAN    OF   PETRARCH. 

LONELY  and  thoughtful  o'er  deserted  plains, 

I  pass  with  melancholy  steps  and  slow, 

Mine  eyes  intent  to  shun,  where'er  I  go, 

The  track  of  man  : — from  him  to  hide  my  pains, 

No  refuge  save  the  wilderness  remains  : 

The  curious  multitude  would  quickly  know, 

Amidst  affected  smiles,  the  cherish'd  wo 

That  wrings  my  bosom,  and  consumes  my  veins. 

Oh  !  that  the  rocks  and  streams  of  solitude, 
The  vales  and  woods  alone,  my  griefs  might  see  ! 
But  paths,  however  secret,  wild  and  rude, 
I  find  not  from  tormenting  passion  free  ; 
Where'er  I  wander,  still  by  Love  pursued, 
With  Him  I  hold  communion,  He  with  Me. 


SONNET. 

IMITATED   FROM   THE   ITALIAN    OF   BENEDETTO    DALI/UVA. 

ON    THE    SIEGE    OF    FAMAGUSTA,   IN   THE    ISLAND    OF   CYPRUS, 
BY   THE    TURKS,    IN    1571. 

THUS  saith  the  Lord : — "  In  whom  shall  Cyprus  trust, 
With  all  her  crimes,  her  luxury,  and  pride? 
In  her  voluptuous  loves  will  she  confide, 
Her  harlot-daughters,  and  her  queen  of  lust  ? 
My  day  is  come  when  o'er  her  neck  in  dust, 
Vengeance  and  fury  shall  triumphant  ride, 
Death  and  captivity  the  spoil  divide, 
And  Cyprus  perish  : — I  the  Lord  am  just. 

"  Then  he  that  bought,  and  he  that  sold  in  thee, 
Thy  princely  merchants,  shall  their  loss  deplore, 
Brothers  in  ruin  as  in  fraud  before ; 
And  thou,  who  mad'st  thy  rampart  of  the  sea, 
Less  by  thy  foes  cast  down  than  crush'd  by  Me  ! 
Thou,  Famagusta  !  fall,  and  rise  no  more." 


IMITATIONS.  371 


SONNET. 

IMITATED   FROM   THE   ITALIAN    OF   GABKIELLO   FIAMMA. 
ON   THE    SEPULTURE    OF   CHRIST. 

WHERE  is  the  aspect  more  than  heaven  serene, 

Which  saints  and  angels  view'd  with  pure  delight? 
The  meekness  and  the  majesty  of  mien, 

That  won  the  yielding  heart  with  gentle  might  ? 
Where  is  the  voice  with  harmony  replete, 

That  changed  to  love  the  mo<t  obdurate  will  ? 
The  eye,  whose  glance  so  ravishingly  sweet, 

The  soul  with  joy  unspeakable  could  fill  ? 
Where  is  the  hand  that  crush'd  our  direst  foe, 

And  Satan's  powers  in  chains  of  darkness  bound? 
Where  is  the  servant's  humble  form  below, 

In  which  the  eternal  Son  of  GOD  was  found  ? 
— Lo  !  where  his  pilgrimage  of  mercy  ends: 
What  Glory  here  into  the  grave  descends  ! 

1621. 

SONNET. 

FROM   THE   ITALIAN   OF    GIOVAMBATTISTA    ZAPPI. 

ON  JUDITH  RETURNING  TO  BETHULIA  WITH  THE  HEAD  OF 
HOLOFERNK8  IN  HER  HAND. 

SHE  held  the  head  all-horrible  with  gore  ; 

Nor  of  the  woman  in  that  act  was  seen 

Aught  save  th'  alluring  locks  and  beauteous  mien: 
"Hail,  heroine,  hail !"  all  voices  cried  before. 
At  the  glad  news,  the  damsels  came  with  speed  ; 
Some  kiss'd  her  feet  and  some  her  garment's  hem, 

None  her  right-hand,  for  terrible  to  them 
Was  the  remembrance  of  that  fatal  deed. 
A  hundred  prophets  sang  the  matron's  fame; 
"Fly  round  the  world,  thine  everlasting  name ! 

The  sun  through  all  his  march  shall  tell  thy  story." 
Great  from  that  dread  achievement  though  she  rose, 
Greater  she  stood  at  this  triumphant  close, 

Fur  she  was  humble  in  the  height  of  glory 

1 805. 


IT*  IMITATIONS. 


SONNET. 

FROM   THE   ITALIAN   OF   EUSTACHIO   MANFREBI. 
FOR   A    NUN,    ON   TAKING   THE    VEIL. 

As  when  a  lion,  mad  with  hunger,  springs 

To  seize  the  unguarded  shepherd  by  surprise, 
Fear  in  a  moment  lends  the  victim  wings  ; 

To  some  broad  elm  or  ancient  oak  he  flies, 
Climbs  for  his  life,  amidst  the  branches  cowers, 

And  sees  th'  infuriate  brute,  with  ramping  paws, 
Leap  at  the  trunk,  and  wearying  all  his  powers, 

Spurn  the  loose  sand,  and  grind  his  foaming  jaws. 
So  she,  whom  hell's  fierce  lion  mark'd  for  prey, 

Flies  to  the  tree  of  life's  extended  arms, 
The  cross  of  Calvary, — which,  night  and  day, 

Yields  shade,  and  rest,  and  refuge  from  alarms ; 
Whence  she  beholds  the  baffled  fiend  again, 
Gnashing  his  teeth  slink  back  to  his  old  den. 


SONNET. 

From  Petrarch,  in  which  the  Poet  laments  the  death  of  his  friend  Signore  Ste- 
fano  Colonna, occurring  soon  after  that  of  Laura.  In  the  original  there  is  a 
symbolical  allusion  to  the  names  of  both,— the  one  as  a  Column,  the  other  a 
Laurel. 

FALL'N  is  the  lofty  Column,  and  uptorn 

The  verdant  Laurel,  in  whose  shade  my  mind 

Found  peace  I  ne'er  again  may  hope  to  find, 
Though  round  the  heavens  o'er  earth  and  ocean  borne : 
— O  Death  !  how  hast  thou  me  of  comfort  shorn  ! 

My  double  treasure  to  the  grave  consign'd, 
Which  made  life  sweet ! — and  wealth  with  power  combined. 
Can  ne'er  restore  to  soothe  my  thought  forlorn. 

What  can  I  do,  if  fate  have  so  decreed, 
But  let  my  sorrowing  heart  in  secret  bleed, 
My  brow  be  sad,  mine  eyes  o'erflow  with  tears  ? 

— O  Life  !  so  beautiful  to  look  upon, 

How,  in  a  moment's  space,  for  ever  gone 
Is  a.11  we  toil  to  gain  through  many  years  ! 


. 


MEET   AGAIN.  371 


THE  SWISS  COWHERD'S  SONG, 

IN   A    FOREIGN    LAND. 

IMITATED    FROM    THE    FRENCH. 

OH,  when  shall  I  visit  the  land  of  my  birth, 
The  loveliest  land  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ? 
When  shall  I  those  scenes  of  affection  explore, 

Our  forests,  our  fountains, 

Our  hamlets,  our  mountains, 

With  the  pride  of  our  mountains,  the  maid  I  adore  ? 
Oh,  when  shall  I  dance  on  the  daisy-white  mead, 
In  the  shade  of  an  elm,  to  the  sound  of  the  reed  ? 

When  shall  I  return  to  that  lowly  retreat, 
Where  all  my  fond  objects  of  tenderness  meet, — 
The  lambs  and  the  heifers  that  follow  my  call, 

My  father,  my  mother, 

My  sister,  my  brother, 
And  dear  Isabella,  the  joy  of  them  all  ? 
Oh,  when  shall  I  visit  the  land  of  my  birth  ? 
— 'Tis  the  loveliest  land  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 


MEET  AGAIN!* 

JOYFUL  words, — we  meet  again  ! 
Love's  own  language,  comfort  darting 
Through  the  souls  of  friends  at  parting; 
Life  in  death, — we  meet  again  ! 

While  we  walk  this  vale  of  tears, 
Compass'd  round  with  care  and  sorrow, 
Gloom  to-day,  and  storm  to-morrow, 
"Meet  again  !"  our  bosom  cheers. 

*  The  three  following  piece*  wen:  paraphrased  from  the  UerniM. 
vou  I.  32 


174  TRANSLATIONS. 

Far  in  exile,  when  we  roam, 
O'er  our  lost  endearments  weeping, 
Lonely,  silent  vigils  keeping, 
"Meet  again  !"  transports  us  home. 

When  this  weary  world  is  past, 
Happy  they,  whose  spirits  soaring, 
Vast  eternity  exploring, 
"Meet  again"  in  heaven  at  last. 


VIA  CRUCIS,  VIA  LUCIS. 

NIGHT  turns  to  day  : — 

When  sullen  darkness  lowers, 

And  heaven  and  earth  are  hid  from  sight, 

Cheer  up,  cheer  up; 

Ere  long  the  opening  flowers, 

With  dewy  eyes,  shall  shine  in  light. 

Storms  die  in  calms : — 

When  over  land  and  ocean 

Roll  the  loud  chariots  of  the  wind. 

Cheer  up,  cheer  up  ; 

The  voice  of  wild  commotion 

Proclaims  tranquillity  behind. 

Winter  wakes  spring: — 

When  icy  blasts  are  blowing 

O'er  frozen  lakes,  through  naked  trees, 

Cheer  up,  cheer  up  ; 

All  beautiful  and  glowing, 

May  floats  in  fragrance  on  the  breeze. 

War  ends  in  peace  : — 

Though  dread  artillery  rattle, 

And  ghastly  corses  load  the  ground, 

Cheer  up,  cheer  up  ; 

Where  groan'd  the  field  of  battle, 

The  song,  the  dance,  the  feast  go  round 


GERMAN   WAR   SONG. 


Toil  brings  repose  :  — 

With  noontide  fervours  beating, 
•When  droop  thy  temples  o'er  thy  breast 
Cheer  up,  cheer  up  ; 
Gray  twilight,  cool  and  fleeting, 
Wafts  on  its  wing  the  hour  of  rest. 

Death  springs  to  life  :  — 

Though  brief  and  sad  thy  story, 

Thy  years  all  spent  in  care  and  gloom, 

Look  up,  look  up  ; 

Eternity  and  glory 

Dawn  through  the  portals  of  the  tomb. 


GERMAN  WAR  SONG.1 

HEAVEN  speed  the  righteous  sword, 
And  freedom  be  the  word  ! 
Come,  brethren,  hand  in  hand, 
Fight  for  your  father-land  ! 

Germania  from  afar 
Invokes  her  sons  to  war ; 
Awake  !  put  forth  your  powers, 
And  victory  must  be  ours. 

On  to  the  combat,  on  ! 
Go  where  your  sires  have  gone  : 
Their  might  unspent  remains, 
Their  pulse  is  in  our  veins. 

On  to  the  battle,  on  ! 
Rest  will  be  sweet  anon  ; 
The  slave  may  yield,  may  fly, 
We  conquer,  or  we  die  ! 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  DANTE. 


UGOLINO  AND  RUGGIERI. 

The  sufferings  of  Ugolino  on  earth, and  his  cannibal  revenge  in  hell,  on  his  be- 
trayerand  murderer,  Ruggicri,  are  better  known  in  this  country  than  any  other 
part  of  the  Diviita  Commedia,  having  been  often  translated,  and  several  times 
made  the  si;!  ji.ct  of  painting,  especially  in  the  rival  pictures  of  Reynolds  and 
Fuseli.  One  version  more  may  be  tolerated,  and  it  will  probably  be  long  be- 
fore it  can  be  said  that  yet  another  is  not  wanted,  to  give  the  English  reader 
an  adequate  idea  of  the  poet's  power  in  the  delineation,— not  so  much  of  the 
supernatural  horrors  of  his  infernal  caverns,  as  of  a  real  earthly  scene,  (like 
the  death  by  starvation  in  the  dungeon  of  a  father  and  his  four'innocent  chil- 
dren,) "  so  simply,  so  severely  great,"  that  of  ihe  narrative,  in  his  own  Italian, 
it  may  be  said, 

"The  force  of  nature  could  no  further  go." 

Ugolino,  Count  of  Gherardesca,  having  united  with  the  Archbishop  Ruggieri 
degli  Ubaldini  to  expel  his  own  nephew,  Nino  Gindice  di  Gallura,  from  the 
sovereignty  of  Pisa,  seized  it  for  himself.  But  the  archbishop  soon  turned 
against  him,  and  being  supported  by  Lanfranchi,  Sismondi,  and  Gualandi, 
three  of  the  principal  inhabitants,  they  raised  a  tumult  in  the  city,  during 
which  Ugolino  was  dragged  from  his  palace,  and  with  his  two  sons,  and  their 
two  sons,  (he  calls  all  four  his  children  in  the  story,)  imprisoned  in  a  tower  on 
the  Piazza  degli  Anziani,  for  several  months,  at  the  expiration  of  which  the 
portals  were  all  locked,  and  the  keys  thrown  into  the  river  Arno  :  the  misera- 
ble captives  being  thus  left  to  perish  with  hunger,  whence  the  hold  itself  ob- 
tained the  name  of  "Famine."  With  great  skill,  to  produce  the  most  pathetic 
impression,  as  \vHI  as  with  consummate  knowledge  of  human  nature,  Dante 
makes  Ugolino  dwell  wholly  on  the  treachery  and  cruelty  exercised  towards 
himself,  without  any  allusion  to  his  own  atrocious  injustice  towards  his 
nephew,  for  which  he  is  doomed  to  the  second  round  of  the  ninth  or  lowest 
gulf  of  Hell,  with  no  utilisation  of  the  pains  of  eternal  hunger,  except  the  ra- 
venous fnast,  like  that  of  the  eagle  on  the  liver  of  Prometheus,  upon  the  never- 
satisfying  and  never-wasting  brain  of  the  traitor  Ruggieri. 

Dante  (accompanied  by  Virgil,  his  conductor)  finds  in  this  department  of  "the 
doleful  city"  the  victims  tormented  variously,  according  to  their  crimes, 

"  In  thrilling  regions  of  thick-ribbed  ice ;" 
and,  among  others,  the  two  personages  aforenamed. 

SCARCE  had  we  parted  thence,  when  T  beheld 
Two  in  one  well  of  ice,  so  grouped  together 
The  head  of  one  to  the  other  seem'd  the  cowl, 
While,  like  a  hungry  man  devouring  bread, 
The  uppermost  had  fasten'd  with  his  teeth 
Upon  the  lower,  where  skull  and  neck  are  join'd 

376 


UGOLINO    AND    RUGGIERI.  377 

Nor  more  voraciously  did  Tydeus  tear 
The  front  of  Mermlippus,  in  his  rage,* 
Than  on  that  head  and  brain  th1  assailant  .prey'd. 

"  O  thou  !"  I  cried,  who  show'st  by  such  brute  token 
Hatred  to  him  whom  thou  devourest,  say, 
Why  dost  thou  so? — I  ask  on  this  condition, 
That  knowing  who  thou  art,  and  what  his  crime, 
If  thou  have  cause  of  wrong  against  thy  victim, 
I  yet  may  right  thee  in  the  upper  world, 
Should  that  with  which  I  speak  be  not  dried  up." 

Delf  Inferno,  canto  xxxii. 

The  sinner  paused  amidst  his  dire  repast, 
And  wiped  his  mouth  upon  the  hairy  scalp 
Of  him  whose  head  he  raven'd  on  behind, 
Then  answer'd : — 

"  Thou  wouldst  have  me  to  renew 
Horrible  pangs,  of  which  the  very  thought 
So  wrings  my  heart,  I  scarce  find  power  for  utterance: 
Yet  if  my  words  prove  seed,  of  which  the  traitor, 
Whom  thus  I  gnaw,  may  reap  th'  accursed  fruit, 
Thou  shall  behold  me  weep  and  speak  at  once. 

"  I  know  not  who  thou  art,  nor  by  what  means 
Thou  hast  come  hither,  but  a  Florentine, 
By  speech,  I  deem  thee. — Know  me,  then, 
Count  Ugolino, — this,  th'  Archbishop  Ruggier, 
And  why  I'm  such  a  neighbour  thou  shall  hear. 
1  need  not  say  how,  by  his  foul  devices, 
Reposing  on  his  faith,  I  was  ensnared, 
And  murdcr'd  : — but,  what  cannot  have  been  told  thee, 
How  cruel  was  that  murder,  thou  shall  know  ; 
Then  judge  if  he  have  injured  me  or  not. 

"When  the  small  casement  of  that  dungeon  cage, 
Which  hath  from  me  the  name  of 'Famine,' — where 
Others  may  yet  be  left  like  me  to  perish, — 
Through  its  dim  aperture,  had  more  than  once 
Shown  the  new  moon,  an  evil  sleep  fell  on  me, 
Which  from  the  future  rent  the  veil. 

*  STATIUB,  Tl>eli.  I.  vii. 
32' 


378  TRANSLATIONS. 


— Me  thought 

This  wretch,  as  lord  and  master  of  the  field, 
Hunted  a  he*wolf  and  his  whelps  along 
The  mountain  which  from  Pisa  shadows  Lucca. 
With  meager,  staunch,  and  noble-blooded  hounds, 
Gualandi,  and  Sismondi,  and  Larifranchi 
Swept  on  before  him. — After  a  short  chase, 
Parent  and  young  fell,  fainting  from  fatigue, 
And  with  keen  fangs  I  saw  them  torn  to  pieces. 

"  When  I  awoke  at  day-break, — in  their  sleep, 
1  heard  my  children  moan,  and  ask  for  bread 
(For  they  were  with  me) ; — cruel  is  thine  heart 
If  it  grieves  not  for  what  mine  then  foreboded, 
And  if  thou  weep'st  not  now,  what  wilt  thou  weep  for  ? 
— Ere  long  they  woke ;  the  hour  drew  nigh  when  food 
Was  wont  to  be  brought  to  us ;  but  in  each 
Secret  misgivings  from  his  dream  arose; 
And  of  the  horrible  tower,  I  heard  the  portal 
Lock'd  underneath  our  cell.     Thereat  I  look'd 
Full  on  my  children,  but  spake  not  a  word, 
Nor  wept,  so  petrified  I  felt  within. 
They  wept,  and  little  Anselm  said  to  me, 
'You  look  so,  father!  Ah!  what  mean  those  looks?' 
Still  I  wept  not,  nor  answer'd  all  that  day, 
Nor  the  next  night. 

At  sun-rise  on  the  morrow, 

When  a  faint  ray  gleam'd  through  our  doleful  prison, 
And  in  four  haggard  faces  show'd  me  mine, 
I  worried  both  my  hands  with  agony  : 
They,  thinking  that  I  did  so  in  the  rage 
Of  hunger,  all. together  rose  and  cried, 
'  Father  !  'twill  hurt  us  less  if  you  will  feed 
On  us ;  you  clothed  these  limbs  with  suffering  flesh, 
Now  strip  theai !' 

Then  I  quieted  myself, 

Not  to  make  them  more  wretched. — All  that  day, 
And  all  the  next,  we  sat,  and  held  our  peace ; 
Ah  !  earth,  hard  earth  !  why  didst  thou  not  then  open  I 


MAESTRO    ADAMO.  37t 


"  When  we  had  linger' d  on  till  the  fourth  day, 
My  Gaddo  threw  himself  down  at  my  feet, 
Crying,  '  My  father  !  why  do  you  not  help  me  ?' 
Then  died. — As  plainly  as  thou  seest  me  now, 
I  saw  the  other  three  fall,  one  by  one, 
Between  the  fifth  day  and  the  sixth.     Then  blind 
I  groped  about  to  feel  and  clasp  their  bodies  ; 
Three  days  I  call'd  them  by  their  names,  though  dead, 
Then  famine  did  for  me  what  grief  could  not." 

Del?  Inferno,  canto  xxxiii. 


MAESTRO  ADAMO. 

The  hideously  comic  interview  and  adventure  with  Maestro  Adamo  (Master 
Adam,)  the  coiner, — in  another  of  Ihe  lower  num.  Is  of  the  infernal  gulf,  where 
trai'ors  of  the  baser  sort  are  lormet.ted  •  itli  unappeasable  thirst,  in  various 
diseases  that  excite  it, — is  thoroughly  Dantesqut,  but  in  the  poet's  coarser  vein. 
It  may  form  a  singular  coiiipnriion-ptere  to  the  fearfully  sublime,  but  simply 
tol<l  and  tenderly  affecting,  narrative  of  Count  Ugolino. 

I  SAW  oYie  shapen  like  a  lute,  had  he 
Been  shorten'd  where  the  man  becomes  a  fork  ;* 
Enormous  dropsy  (which  had  swoln  his  limbs 
With  stagnant  humours,  till  his  ghastly  cheek 
But  ill  agreed  with  his  unwieldy  paunch) 
Made  him,  for  thirst,  gasp  like  a  hectic, — one 
Lip  lolling  on  his  chin,  upcurl'd  the  other. 

"Oh!  you,"  he  cried,  "that  without  pain  (though  why 
I  know  not)  pass  through  this  unhappy  world, 
Hear,  and  mark  well  the  sorrows  of  Adumo; 
Living,  I  had  whatever  heart  could  wish, 
And  now,  alas  !  I  lack  a  drop  of  water. 
The  murmuring  rivulets  down  the  verdant  hills 
Of  Cassentino,  flowing  into  Arno, 
Which  keep  their  little  channels  moist  and  cool, 
Are  ever  in  mine  eye ; — and  not  in  vain, 
For  their  sweet  images  inflame  my  thirst 

•  The  strange  ptiraii;  employed  In  the  original  quaintly  iijjnifie*, 
—"if  be  bad  been  tburtened  fiuni  the  waist." 


880  TBANSLATIONS. 


More  than  the  malady  that  shrinks  my  visage. 

The  rigid  justice,  which  torments  me  here, 

Even  from  the  place  where  I  committed  sin, 

Draws  means  to  mock  and  multiply  my  groans ; 

Romena  stands  before  me,  where  I  forged 

The  lawful  coin  and  Baptist's  seal,  for  which 

I  left  my  wretched  body  in  the  flames.9 

— Yet  could  I  spy  the  woful  ghost  of  Guido, 

Of  Alessandro,  or  their  brother,  here, 

1  would  not  quit  the  sight  for  Branda's  fountain  ! 

Somewhere  among  these  pits  dwells  one, — if  truth 

Be  told  by  those  mad  souls  that  roam  at  large, — 

But  what  is  that  to  me  whose  limbs  are  bound  ? 

Oh  !  were  I  light  enough  to  move  an  inch 

A  century,  I  had  set  out  ere  now 

In  search  of  him  among  the  hideous  throng, 

Through  all  the  eleven  long  miles  of  fchis  sad  circle, 

Which  hath  not  less  than  half  a  mile  in  breadth  ! 

They  brought  me  to  this  family  of  fiends, 

They  tempted  me  to  falsify  the  florin, 

And  mix  it  with  three  carats  of  alloy." 

Then  I  to  him : — "And  who  are  these  two  wretches, 
That  smoke  like  hands  in  winter  plunged  through  snow, 
Lying  close  fetter'd  on  the  right  of  thee  ?" 

"  I  found  them  here,  and  they  have  never  stirr'd 
Since  I  Avas  dropt  into  this  ditch,"  he  answer'd: 
"  One's  the  false  woman  who  accused  young  Joseph, 
And  t'other  Sinon,  the  false  Greek  at  Troy, 
Who,  in  the  excruciate  pangs  of  putrid  fever, 
Send  up  such  steam." 

That  moment  one  of  them, 
Wroth  to  be  named  so  ignominiously, 
Struck  with  the  fist  on  his  distended  hide, 
That  thunder'd  like  a  drum ; — but  Master  Adam 
Repaid  the  blow  upon  the  assailant's  face, 
Not  less  afflictive,  with  his  arm  ;  exclaiming, 
"  Though  reft  of  locomotion,  being  so  large, 
I  have  a  hand  at  liberty  for  that" 


MAESTRO    ADAMO.  881 


To  whom  the  other : — "  Thou  wert  not  so  prompt. 
When  thou  wast  going  to  the  stake ;  and  yet 
More  prompt  than  now  when  thou  didst  stamp  the  coin." 

"  Thou  speak'st  the  truth,"  the  dropsical  replied, 
"  But  didst  not  so  at  Troy,  when  truth  was  ask'd  thee." 

"  False  words  I  utter'd  then,  as  thou  false  money ; 
If  for  one  crime  I  suffer,  thou  art  damn'd 
For  more  than  any  demon  here,"  quoth  Sinon. 

"Remember  !  perjured  one,  the  hollow  horse, 
With  its  full  belly,"  Adam  cried,  "  and  stand 
Guilty  through  all  the  world." 

"  Stand  guilty  thou  !" 

The  Greek  retorted  ;  "  witness  that  huge  round, 
That  quagmire,  which  engulfs  thee  in  thyself." 

The  coiner  then: — "Thy  mouth  for  evil-speaking 
Is  quite  as  open  as  it  wont  to  be ; 
If  I  have  drought  while  humours  swell  me  up, 
Thou  hast  a  burning  heart  and  aching  head, 
And  wouldst  not  need  much  coaxing  to  the  task 
To  lap  the  mirror  of  Narcissus  dry." 

I  stood  all  fix'd  to  hear  them. — "  Little  more 
Would  make  me  quarrel  with  thee ;  so  be  warn'd," 
Cried  Virgil : — when  I  heard  him  speak  in  warmth, 
I  turn'd  about,  and  coloured  with  such  shame, 
The  very  thought  brings  back  the  blush  upon  me. 
Like  one  who  dreams  of  harm  befalling  him, 
And  dreaming  wishes  it  may  be  a  dream, 
Desiring  that  which  is  as  though  it  were  not, 
So  I,  unable  to  excuse  myself. 
(For  I  stood  mule,)  excused  myself  the  more, 
Unwittingly. — "  Less  shame  than  thine  might  make 
Atonement  for  a  greater  fault  than  thine," 
My  Master  said,  "  so  cast  away  thy  sadness ; 
Ami  know  that  I  am  ever  at  thy  side ; 
If  fortune  brings  thee  where  such  knaves  fall  out, 
—To  love  their  broils  betrays  a  base-born  mind." 

DeW  Inferno,  canto  xxx. 


389  TRANSLATIONS. 


DANTE  AND  BEATRICE. 

There  is  no  circumstance  in  the  whole  compass  of  the  Dnina  Commedia  more 
exquisitely  imagined  than  the  unfelt  swiftness  with  which  Dante  and  Beatrice, 
by  the  mere  act  of  volition  on  their  part,  are  transported  from  planet  to  planet 
in  the  Paradino  ;  nor  is  the  evidence  of  their  arrival  at  each  new  stage,  in  the 
increased  loveliness  of  the  lady  to  the  eyes  of  the  poet,  less  delicately  con- 
ceived. 

I  FELT  not  our  ascension  to  that  star, 

But  soon  of  this  my  lady  gave  me  warning1, 

For  she  had  grown  more  beautiful. 

Del  Paradiso,  canto  viii. 


Their  first  flight  from  the  Hill  of  Purgatory  was  to  the  moon.    Their  entrance 
within  the  sphere  of  "that  eternal  pearl"  is  thus  described. 

The  native-horn  and  everlasting  thirst 

For  that  pure  realm,  resembling  God  himself, 

Carried  us  thither,  swift  as  move  the  heavens. 

My  lady  look'd  aloof,  and  I  on  her ; 
Then,  in  as  brief  a  space  as,  on  the  string, 
An  arrow  rests,  escapes,  and  flits  away,8 
I  found  myself  transported,  and  arrived, 
Where  a  strange  thing  surprised  me  ;  but  my  guide, 
From  whom  naught  in  my  heart  could  be  conceal'd, 
Turn'd,  with  a  sweet  and  gracious  countenance, 
Exclaiming,  "  Now,  thank  God  !  that  we  have  reach'd 
The  nearest  star."* — Methought  a  lucid,  dense, 
And  brilliant  cloud,  like  diamond,  which  the  sun 
Transpierces,  compass'd  us  on  every  side  : 
Within  the  orb  of  that  eternal  pearl, 
We  enter'd, — as  a  ray  of  light  pervades 
The  crystal  wave,  united  yet  unbroken. 

Del  Paradiso,  canto  ii. 


*  The  moon. 


THE    RIVER    OF    LIFE.  381 


The  sign  whicli  spiritual  intelligences  in  heaven  give  of  iheir  desire  to  converse 
with  the  travellers  that  visit  their  respective  abodes,  by  shining  out  from 
among  their  companions  with  intens'.-r  lustre,  is  of  the  same  happy  ch.-iracter 
of  thought  witli  the  idea  of  Beatrice's  beauty  brightening  as  she  mounts  from 
sphere  to  sphere. 

SHE  ceased,  and  seem'd  to  enter  a  new  round 
Within  the  wheel  where  she  revolved  before  ;* 
That  other  ardour,  known  to  me  already, 
Now  flash'd  out  marvellously  upon  my  sighi, 
Like  a  fine  ruby  .inn/ten  by  the  sun; 
For  joy  in  heaven  brings  splendour,  as  it  brings 
Laughter  on  earth  ; — but,  in  the  abyss  of  hell, 
Horror  grows  blacker  as  the  mind  more  sad. 

Del  Paradiso,  canto  ix. 


THE  RIVER  OF  LIFE. 

The  greater  part  of  the  Paradiso,— while  it  exemplifies,  almost  beyond  example* 
the  power  of  human  language  to  vary  a  few  ideas  and  images  in  themselves  so 
simple,  pure,  and  hallowed,  that  they  hardly  can  be  altered  from  their  estab- 
lished assochiioni"  without  being  deerHded,— shows  nlsn  the  utter  impotence 
of  any  other  terms  than  those  which  Scripture  has  employed  "as  in  a  glass 
darkly," — and  who  can  there  add  Unlit  1— to  body  forth  what  eye  hath  not  seen, 
ear  heard,  neither  h-ith  entered  into  the  h-  art  of  man  to  conceive.  One  elabo- 
rate specimen  (however  defective  the  translation  may  he)  will  elucidate  this 
failure  even  in  the  noble  original,  which,  like  its  inerTahlr  theme,  in  this  part 
is  "dark  with  excessive  bright."  The  poet  here  copies  more  directly  than  ho 
U  wont  from  the  sacred  Oracles;  or,  a«  in  the  Kiiblime  simile  of  the  rock,  illus- 
trates ln«  subject  with  not  unworthy  intunil  objects;  at  the  same  time,  with 
characteristic  ingenuoimne^he  expUins  hisown  feelingson  beholding-'1  tiling* 
which  it  is  not  lawful  for  a  man  (o  utter." 

As  sudden  lightning  dissipates  the  sight, 

And  leaves  the  eye  unable  to  discern 

The  plainest  objects, — living  light  so  flash'd 

Around  me,  and  involved  me  in  a  veil 

Of  such  effulgence,  that  I  ceased  to  nee. 

"Thus  Love,  which  soothes  this  heaven,  ull  kindly  fits 

The  torch  to  take  his  flame  !"t — These  feu-,  brief  words 


*  A   mystic  d.uir  r,  most  curiously  described   In   the  original,  In  whii  h  the 
CclestiiN  «r«  rngazcd. 

t  Beatrice  «ddre»ici  this  remark  to  Uante. 


TRANSLATIONS. 


Had  scarcely  reach'd  mine  ear,  when  I  perceived 
Power  from  on  high  diffuse  such  virtue  through  me, 
And  so  rekindle  vision,  that  no  flame, 
However  pure,  could  'scape  mine  eyes. 

I  saw 

Light,  like  a  river  clear  as  crystal,  flowing 
Between  two  banks  with  wondrous  spring  adorn'd ; 
While  from  the  current  issued  vivid  sparks, 
That  fell  among  the  flowers  on  either  hand, 
Glitter'd  like  rubies  set  in  gold,  and%then, 
As  if  intoxicate  with  sweetest  odours, 
Replunged  themselves  into  the  mystic  flood, 
Whence,  as  one  disappear'd,  another  rose. 

"  The  intense  desire  that  warms  and  stirs  thy  thoughts 
To  understand  what  thou  heholdest,  yields 
More  joy  to  me,  the  more  it  urges  thee  ; 
But  ere  such  noble  thirst  can  be  assuaged, 
Behooves  thee  first  to  drink  of  this  clear  fount." 
The  sun  that  lights  mine  eyes"  thus  spake,  and  added . 
— "  Yon  stream,  those  jewels  flitting  to  and  fro, 
And  all  the  joyance  of  these  laughing  flowers, 
Are  shadowy  emblems  of  realities, 
Not  dark  themselves,  but  the  defect  is  thine, 
Who  hast  not  yet  obtain'd  due  strength  of  vision." 

Ah  !  then,  no  infant,  startled  out  of  sleep, 
Long  past  his  time,  springs  to  the  mother's  milk 
More  eagerly  than  o'er  that  stream  I  bow'd, 
To  make  more  perfect  lustres  of  mine  eyes, 
Which,  when  the  fringes  of  their  lids  had  touch'd  it 
Seem'd,  from  a  line,  collapsed  into  a  round. 
— As  maskers,  when  they  cast  their  visors  ofT, 
Appear  new  persons,  stript  of  such  disguise, 
The  sparks  and  flowers  assumed  sublirner  forms,t 
And  both  the  courts  of  heaven  were  open'd  round  me. 

*  Beatrice.  ( 

t  They  were  transfigured  from  symbols  into  their  spiritual  identities  ;  and,  as 
intimated  below,  the  sparks  were  the  souls  of  all  the  saints  who  had  been  re- 
moved in  past  agjs  to  the  bliss  of  heaven. 


THE   RIVER    OF    LIFE.  38) 

O  splendour  of  the  Deity  !  by  which 
The  lofty  triumph  of  thy  real  reign  • 
I  saw, — give  power  to  paint  it  as  I  saw. 

There  is  a  light,  which  renders  visible 
The  Maker  to  the  creature  who  desires 
Felicity  in  seeing  Him  alone  : 
— Though  but  a  ray  of  uncreated  glory, 
Sent  from  the  fountain-head  of  life  and  power, 
It  forms  a  circle,  whose  circumference 
Would  be  too  wide  a  girdle  for  the  sun : 
And.  as  a  cliff  in  water,  from  its  foot, 
Looks  down  upon  its  height  in  that  broad  mirror, 
And  seems  therein  contemplating  its  beauty, 
What  verdure  clothes,  what  flowers  its  flanks  adorn, 
So,  standing  round  about  that  sea  of  glass, 
As  many  souls  as  earth  hath  sent  to  heaven, 
Upon  ten  thousand  thrones  and  more,  beheld 
Their  happy  semblances  reflected  there. 

If,  round  its  lowest  stem  such  pomp  appear, 
What  must  the  full-expanded  foliage  show 
Of  that  celestial  rose  ?*  and  yet  my  sight, 
Through  its  whole  amplitude  and  elevation, 
Gazed  unbewilder'd  ;  yea,  at  once  took  in 
The  measure  and  the  amount  of  all  that  joy. 

Del  Paradiso,  canto  xxx. 


*  Tnii  refi-rt  to  a  ilry  conceit,  wliirh  runs  through  much  of  the  Paradito,  ar- 
ranging Ihe  lM|i|»y  §|imm  throughout  the  various  heaven*,  in  different  forma, 
•uch  a*  an  engle,  a  tro*>,  lie.,  and  here  a  row. 


VOL.  i.  33 


386 


TRANSLATIONS. 


THE  PORTAL  OF  HELL. 

Awfully  contrasted  with  the  foregoing  dazzling  spectacle,  but  far  more  real  in 
its  picturesque  and  imaginable  grandeur,  is  the  famous  description  of  the  en- 
trance upon  the  infernal  regions. 

"THROUGH  me,  ye  go  into  the  doleful  city, 

Through  me,  ye  go  into  eternal  pain, 

Through  me,  ye  go  among  the  lost  for  ever : 

'Twas  justice  moved  my  Founder ;  Power  divine, 

Infinite  Wisdom  and  primeval  Love, 

Ordain'd  and  fix'd  me  here.     Before  me  naught 

That  is  existed,  save  eternal  things, 

And  I  unto  eternity  endure  ; 

— Abandon  every  hope,  all  ye  that  enter !" 

These  words  in  sombre  colours  I  beheld 
Inscribed  upon  the  summit  of  a  portal : 
« 'Tis  a  hard  sentence,  Master !"  I  exclaim'd ; 
When  he,  like  one  of  ready  speech,  replied : 
"Leave  all  mistrust,  all  base  misgiving  here, 
We  now  have  reach'd  the  place  of  which  I  told  thee, 
Where  thou  shall  see  the  miserable  throngs 
Who  mourn  the  loss  of  intellectual  good." 

Then  straightway,  in  his  hand  enclasping  mine, 
With  brightening  countenance  that  cheer'd  roy  heart, 
He  led  me  down  among  the  things  of  darkness: — 
There  sighs,  and  groans,  and  lamentable  wailings, 
So  rang  throughout  that  region  without  star, 
That  on  the  threshold  I  began  to  weep  : 
Horrible  tongues,  discordant  languages, 
Words  full  of  dolour,  accents  of  sharp  anger, 
Shrill  and  hoarse  voices,  sounds  of  smitten  hands, 
Rose  in  wild  tumult,  eddying  through  the  gloom, 
Like  sands  before  the  whirlwind  of  the  desert. 

Delf  Inferno,  canto  iii 


ANTEUS.  .          W7 


ANTEUS. 

Dante  and  Virgil,  in  the  lowest  gulf  but  one,  firvi  the  ancient  giants  bound  on 
rocks  or  wedged  in  caverns.  From  one  of  these  they  solicit  help,  namely, — 
a  lift  downward  irtlo  the  last  abyss,  where  Lucifer  (I lime-faced,  and  eternally 
worrying  at  each  of  his  mouths,  Judas  Israriut,  Brutus,  and  Cassius)  is  em- 
bedded in  adamantine  ice.  The  negotiation  is  conducted  with  great  finesse  on 
the  part  of  Virgil,  who  assails  the  monster  on  his  weak  side,  the  " laudum 
immensa  cupidu,"  uneztinguished  even  there,  where  "hope  never  comes ;" 
the  poet  himself,  at  the  same  time,  betraying,  though  from  the  lips  of  his  guide, 
that  pride  of  conscious  power  to  praise  or  give  renown,  which  often  and  unex- 
pected!.  throws  a  passing  glory  over  his  human  nature,  even  when  the  in- 
firmity of  the  latter  is  most  frankly  confessed. 

— WE  journey  'd  on,  and  reach 'd  Ante  us, 
Who  stood  above  the  pit's  mouth  five  good  ells, 
Besides  his  hoad. — "  O  thou  !  who  in  the  field 
Of  fortune,  that  made  Scipio  glory's  heir, 
When  Hannibal  with  all  his  veterans  fled, 
Didst  catch  a  hundred  lions  for  thy  prey  ; 
And  'tis  believed,  that,  in  their  war  with  heaven, 
Hadst  thou  been  with  thy  brethren  they  had  triumph'd, 
— Land  us  below — (nay,  scowl  not  thus  askance)— 
Where  cold  congeals  Cocylus,     Force  us  not 
Aid  to  implore  of  Tithyus  or  of  Typhon : 
This  man  can  give  thee  what  ye  covet  here  ; 
Bow  then,  nor  grin  upon  us  like  a  griffin  ;* 
He  yet  can  make  thee  famous  through  the  world, 
For  he  still  lives,  and  counts  on  length  of  days, 
If  grace  remove  him  not  before  his  time." 

So  spake  my  Master,  and  in  haste  the  giant 
Stretch'd  forth  the  hand,  whose  gripe  cramp'd  Hercules, 
To  take  us  up  : — when  Virgil  felt  his  grasp, 
"  Hither,"  he  cried,  "  come  hiiher,  let  me  hold  thee ;" 
He  caught  me,  and  we  both  became  one  burden. 
Then,  as  the  tower  of  Carisenda  seems 

*  "Torcer  lo  grifo,"  an  Italian  phrase  fur  "to  make  an  ugly  face." 


TRANSLATIONS. 


Itself  in  motion,  to  the  eye  beneath, 
When  a  cloud  sails  above  its 'leaning  top  ; 
So  seem'd  Anteus,  when  I  watch' d  him  bend, 
And  wish'd  myself  elsewhere  ;  but  easily, 
Down  in  the  gulf  that  gorges  Lucifer 
And  Judas,  he  deposited  us  twain : 
Nor  stooping  stay'd  he,  but  anon,  erect, 
Rose  like  a  ship's  mast  from  the  rocking  surge. 

Delf  Inferno,  canto  xxxi. 


CAIN. 

If,  in  the  scene  with  Antens,  the  emphasis  of  silence,  and  the  perspicuity  of 
graphic  delineation,  are  happily  exemplified,  in  the  following;  brief  passage  the 
force  of  mere  sounds  (where  no  imasre  or  personification  is  presented  to  the 
eye)  is  made  to  produce  a  surprising  effect.  On  one  of  the  Moping  mazes  of 
the  spiral  Hill  <>f  Purgatory,  the  travellers  having  parted  with  some  agreeable 
company,  which  had  long  engaged  them,  it  is  said  : — 

WE  knew  those  friendly  spirits  heard  us  going, 
Their  silence  therefore  show'd  our  path  was  right : 
Now  left  alone,  proceeding  on  our  journey, 
Like  lightning  when  it  rends  the  region,  rush'd 
A  voice  beside  us,  lamentably  crying, 
"  Ah  !  every  one  that  findeth  me  shall  slay  me  !"* 
And  then  it  fled,  like  thunder  that  explodes, 
All  in  a  moment,  from  the  riven  cloud  : 
—Scarce  from  that  sound  our  ears  had  truce,  when  lo ! 
Brake  forth  another,  with  astounding  peal, 
"  I  am  Aglauros  who  was  turn'd  to  stone. "t 
Closer  behind  the  poet's  back  I  cower'd, 
•  — Then  was  the  air  in  every  quarter  still. 

Del  Purgatorio,  canto  xiv. 

*  Genesis  iv.  14.  f  Ovid.  Metam.  lib.  ii. 


FARINATA.  S8B 


FARINATA. 

In  the  tenth  canto  of  the  "  Inferno,"  where  heretics  are  described  as  boing 
tormented  in  toiuhs  of  fire,  the  lids  of  which  are  suspended  over  them  till  the 
day  of  judgment,  Dante  finds  Farinata  U'Ubcrti,  an  illustrious  commander  of 
the  Qliibellivcs,  (the  adherents  of  the  emperor,)  who,  at  Hie  battle  of  Monte 
Aperto,  in  1260,  hid  so  utterly  defeated  the  Ouelfs  (the  Pope's  party)  of  Flo- 
rence, that  the  city  lay  at  the  mercy  of  its  enemies,  by  whom  counsel  was 
taken  to  rase  it  to  the  ground  ;  but  Farinata,  because  his  bowels  yearned 
towards  the  place  of  his  nativity,  stood  up  alone  to  oppose  the  barbarous 
design;  and  partly  by  menace — having  drawn  his  sword  in  the  midst  of  the 
assembly — and  partly  by  persuasion,  preserved  it  from  destruction.  Notwith- 
standing this  patriotic  intertVrence,  when  the  Giielfs  afterwards  regained  the 
ascendency,  he  and  his  kindred  were  most  inveterately  proscribed  there,  and 
doomed  to  perpetual  exile. 

The  interview  between  Dante  and  this  magnanimous  foe,  in  those 

"  Regions  of  sorrow,  doleful  shades,  where  peace 
And  rest  can  never  dwell;  hope  never  conies, 
That  comes  to  all ;  but  torture  without  end 
Still  urges,  and  a  fiery  delude,  fed 
With  ever-burning  sulphur  unconsumed," — 

(Paradise  Lost,  book  i.) 

Is  painted  with  transcendent  power  of  colouring,  and  stern,  nndecorated 
energy  of  style.  To  prepare  the  reader  for  well  understanding  the  episode, 
which  abruptly  breaks  through  the  order  of  this  high  dramatic  scene,  it  is 
necessary  to  state  that  Cavalcante  Cnvnlcanti,  whose  hr>:id  appears  out  of  an 
adjacent  sepulchre,  was  the  father  ofUuiilu  Cavalcauti,  a  poet,  the  particular 
friend  of  Dante,  an  1  chief  of  the  Biauchi  party,  who  were  bunUhed  during  Ilia 
priorship. 

"O  TUSCAN  !  Thou,  who,  through  this  realm  of  fire, 
Alive  dost  walk,  thus  courteously  conversing, 
Pause,  if  it  please  thee  here.     Thy  dialect 
Proclaims  thy  lineage  from  that  noble  land, 
Which  I  perhaps  too  much  have  wrong'd." 

Such  sounds 

Suddenly  issued  forth  from  one  of  those 
Sepulchral  caverns. — Tremblingly  I  crept 
A  little  nearer  to  my  guide ;  but  he 
Cried,  "Turn  again  !  what  wouldst  thou  do?   Behold 
'Tis  Farinata,  that  hath  raised  himself: 
There  mayst  thou  see  him,  upward  from  the  loins." 
—Already  had  I  fiVd  mine  eyes  on  his, 

33* 


390  TRANSLATIONS. 


Who  stood,  with  bust  and  visage  so  erect, 
As  though  he  look'd  on  hell  itself  with  scorn. 
My  Master  then,  with  prompt  and  resolute  hands, 
Thrust  me  among  the  charnel-vaults  towards  him, 
Saying : — "  Thy  words  be  plain  !"    When  I  had  reach'd 
His  tombstone-foot,  he  look'd  at  me  awhile 
As  in  disdain  ;  then  loftily  demanded, — 
"  Who  were  thine  ancestors  ?" 

— Eager  to  tell. 

Naught  I  conceal'd,  but  utter'd  all  the  truth. 
Arching  his  brow  a  little,  he  return'd, 
"Bitter  antagonists  of  mine,  of  me, 
And  of  my  party,  were  thy  sires  ;  but  twice 
I  scattered  them." 

"If  scatter'd  twice,"  said  T, 
"  Once  and  again  they  came  from  all  sides  back, 
— A  lesson,  which  thy  friends  have  not  well  leara'd." 

Just  then,  a  second  figure,  at  his  side, 
Emerged  to  view;  unveil'd  above  the  chin, 
And  kneeling,  as  methought. — It  look'd  around 
So  wistfully,  as  though  it  hoped  to  find 
Some  other  with  me  ;  but,  that  hope  dispell'd, 
Weepipg  it  spake  : — "  If  through  this  dungeon-gloom 
Grandeur  of  genius  guide  thy  venturous  way, 
My  son  ! — Whjjre  is  he ? — and  why  not  with  the.e?" 

Then  I  to  him  : — "  Not  of  myself  I  came  ; 
He  who  awaits  me  yonder  brought  me  hither, 
— One  whom  perhaps  thy  Guido  held  in  scorn."4 
His  speech  and  form  of  penance  had  already 
Taught  me  his  name  ;  my  words  were  therefore  pointed. 
Upstarting  he  exclaim'd, — "  How? — saidst  thou  held? 
Lives  he  not  then  ?  and  doth  not  heaven's  sweet  light 
Fall  on  his  eyes  ?" — when  I  was  slow  to  answer, 
Backward  he  sunk  and  reappear'd  no  more. 

Meanwhile  that  other  most  majestic  form, 
Near  which  I  stood,  neither  changed  countenance, 
Nor  turn'd  his  neck,  nor  lean'd  to  either  side : 
"  And  if,"  quoth  he,  our  first  debate  resuming, 


FARINATA.  391 

"  They  have  not  well  that  lesson  learn'd,  the  thought 
Torments  me  more  than  this  infernal  bed : 
And  yet,  not  .fifty  times  her  changing  face, 
Who  here  reigns  sovereign,  shall  be  re-illumined, 
Ere  thou  shall  know  how  hard  that  lesson  is.* 
— But  tell  me — so  mayst  thou  return  in  peace 
To  the  dear  world  above ! — why  are  thy  people 
In  all  their  acts  so  mad  against  my  race  ?" 

"  The  slaughter  and  discomfiture,"  said  I, 
"  That  turn'd  the  river  red  at  Mont'  Aperto, 
Have  caused  such  dire  proscription  in  our  temples.'* 
He  shook  his  head,  deep-sighing,  and  rejoin'd : 
"  I  was  not  {here  alone,  nor  without  cause 
Engaged  with  others  ;  but  I  was  alone, 
And  stood  in  her  defence  with  open  brow, 
When  all  our  council,  with  one  voice,  decreed, 
That  Florence  should  be  rased  from  her  foundation.'* 

"  So  may  thy  kindred  find  repose,  as  thou 
Shalt  loose  a  knot  which  hath  entangled  me  !" 
Thus  I  adjured  him : — "  Ye  foresee  what  time 
(If  rightly  I  have  learn'd}  will  bring  to  pass, 
But  to  the  present,  otherwise,  are  blind." 

"  We  see,  like  him  that  hath  an  evil  eye, 
Far  distant  things,"  said  he,  "  so  highest  God 
Enlightens  us,  but  yet  when  they  approach, 
Or  when  they  are,  our  intellect  falls  short; 
Nor  can  we  know,  save  by  report  from  others, 
Aught  of  the  state  of  man  below  the  sun  ; 
Hence  mayst  thou  comprehend,  how  all  our  knowledge 
Shall  cease  for  ever  from  that  point,  which  shuts 
The  portal  of  the  future." 

At  that  moment, 

Compunction  smote  me  for  my  recent  fault, 
And  I  cried  out: — "O  tell  that  fallen  one, 
His  son  is  yet  among  the  living  : — say, 

*  He  foretell*  Dante's  own  expuliion  from  hi*  country,  within  fifty  lunar 


S93  TRANSLATIONS. 


That  if  I  falter'd  to  reply  at  first, 
With  that  assurance,  'twas  because  my  thoughts 
Were  harass'd  by  the  doubt  which  thou  hast  solved." 

Deir  Inferno,  canto  x. 

The  reader  of  ihese  lines  (however  inferior  the  translation  may  bf)  cannot  have 
failed  to  perceive  hy  what  natural  action  and  speech,  the  paternal  anxiety  of  Oa- 
valcanti  respecting  his  son  is  indicated.  On  his  bed  of  torture  he  hears  a  voice 
which  he  knows  to  be  that  of  his  son's  friend :  he  starts  up,  looks  eagerly  about, 
as  expecting  to  see  his  son ;  hut  observing  the  friend  only,  he  at  once  interrupts 
the  dialogue  between  Dante  and  Farinata,  and  in  broken  exclamations  inquires 
concerning  him.  The  poet  happening  to  employ  the  past  tense  of  a  verh  in  refer- 
ence to  what  his  "Guido"  might  have  done,  the  miserable  parent  instantly  lava 
hold  of  that  minute  circumstance,  as  an  intimation  of  his  death,  and  asks  hurried 
questions  of  which  he  dreads  the  answers,  precisely  in  the  manner  of  Macdulf, 
when  he  learns  from  the  messenger  that  his  wife  and  children  had  been  murder- 
ed by  Macbeth.  Dante  hesitating  to  reply,  Cavalcanli  takes  the  worst  for  grant- 
ed, falls  back  in  despair,  and  appears  not  again.  Thus  with  him 
"  Even  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  nature  cries." 

The  poet,  however,  at  the  close  of  the  scene,  unexpectedly  recurs  to  his  own 
fault  with  the  tenderness  of  compunction  and  delicacy  due  to  an  unfortunate  be- 
ing, whom  he  had  unintentionally  agonized  by  his  silence,  and  sends  a  message 
to  the  old  man  that  his  son  yet  lives.  Contrasted  with  this  trembling  sensibility 
of  a  father's  affection,  stronger  than  death,  and  ontfeeling  the  pains  of  hell,  is 
the  proud,  calm,  patient  dignity  of  Farinata,  who.  though  wounded  to  the  quick 
by  the  sarcastic  retort  of  Dante,  at  the  instant  when  the  discourse  was  inter- 
rupted, stands  unmoved  in  mind,  ii,  .  x>k,  in  posture,  till  the  episode  is  ended; 
and  then,  without  the  slightest  ullusir  n  to  it,  he  takes  up  the  suspended  argument 
at  the  last  words  of  his  opponent,  IM  though  his  thoughts  had  been  all  the  while 
ruminating  on  the  disgrace  of  hi ;  'riends,  the  afflictions  of  his  family,  and  the  in- 
extinguishable enmity  of  his  c<  -'try-men  against  himself.  His  noble  rejoinder, 
on  Dante's  reference  to  the  carnage  at  Monte  Aperto,  as  the  cause  of  his  people's 
implacability,  is  above  all  praise.  Indeed,  il  would  be  difficult  to  point  out  in  an- 
cient or  modern  tragedy,  a  passage  of  more  sublimity  or  pathos,  in  which  so  few 
Words  express  so  much,  yet  leave  more  to  be  imagined  by  any  one  who  has  "a 
human  heart,"  as  the  whole  of  this  scene  in  the  original  Italian  exhibits. 


NOTES. 


THE  REV\   RUFUS  W.   GRISWOLD 


fp- 


NOTES  TO  VOL.  I. 


THE  WANDERER  OF   SWITZERLAND. 

Page  53. 

1  More  properly  the  AVALANCHES;  immense  accumulations  of  ice 
and  snow,  balanced  on  the  verge  of  the  mountains  in  such  subtle  sus- 
pense, that,  in  the  opinion  of  the  natives,  the  tread  of  the  traveller  may 
bring  them  down  in  destruction  upon  him.     The  GLACIKHS  are  more 
permanent  masses  of  ice,  and  formed  rather  in  the  valleys  than  on  tho 
summits  of  tho  Alps. 

Page  56. 

2  BRCNNEN,  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  on  the  borders  of  the  lake 
of  UBI,  where  the  first  Swiss  Patriots,  WALTER  Fuiisrof  URI,  WEH- 
HER  STACFFACIIER  of  SCIIWMTZ,  and  ARNOLD  of  MELCHTAL  in  UN- 
DERWALDF.N,  conspired  against  the  tyranny  of  Austria  in  1307,  again, 
in  1798,  became  the  seat  of  the  Diet  of  these  three  forest  cantons. 

Page  56. 

s  On  the  plains  of  MOROARTHEN,  whore  the  Swiss  gained  their  first 
decisive  victory  over  the  force  of  Austria,  and  thereby  secured  the  inde- 
pendence of  their  country  ;  ALOTS  KKIMNO,  at  the  head  of  the  troop* 
of  the  little  cantons,  I'm,  SrnwiTz,  and  UNUEMWALDEN,  repeatedly 
repulsed  the  invading  army  of  Fit  AM  i.. 

Page  56. 

«  By  »ho  resistance  of  these  small  cantons  the  French  Genera! 
ScHAwr.Nr.ouHo  was  compelled  to  resjioct  their  independence,  and 
gave  them  a  solemn  pledge  to  that  purport ;  but  no  sooner  had  they  dis- 
armed, on  the  faith  of  this  engagement,  than  the  enemy  came  suddenly 
upon  them  with  an  immense  force ;  and  with  threats  of  extermination 
compelled  them  to  take  the  civt  catli  to  tho  new  constitution,  impose- ' 
upon  all  Switzerland. 

US 


896  NOTES   TO    VOL.    I. 


Page  56. 

s  The  inhabitants  of  the  Lower  Valley  of  UxmtnwALnKX  alone  re- 
sisted the  French  message,  which  required  submission  to  the  new  con. 
Gtitution,  and  the  immediate  surrender,  alive  or  dead,  of  nine  of  their 
leaders.  When  the  demand,  accompanied  by  a  menace,  of  destruction, 
was  read  in  the  Assembly  of  the  District,  all  the  men  of  the  Valley,  fif- 
teen hundred  in  number,  took  up  arms,  and  devoted  themselves  to  perish 
in  the  ruins  of  their  country. 

Page  57. 

6  At  the  battle  of  SEMPACII,  the  Austrians  presented  so  impenetrable 
a  front  with  their  projected  spears,  that  the  Swiss  were  repeatedly  com- 
pelled to  retire  from  the  attack,  till  a  native  of  UMIKHWALDKX,  named 
Anxoui  nu  WINKKLHIKD,  commending  his  family  to  his  countrymen, 
sprang  upon  the  enemy,  and,  burying  as  many  of  their  spears  as  ho 
could  grasp  in  his  body,  made  a  breach  in  their  line;  the  Swiss  rushed 
in,  and  routed  the  Austrians  with  a  terrible  slaughter.' 

Page  58. 

i  Many  of  the  UN nr.n  WALKERS,  on  the  approach  of  the  French  army* 
removed  their  families  and  cattle  among  the  Higher  Alps;  and  them- 
selves returned  to  join  their  brethren,  who  had  encamped  in  their  native 
Valley,  on  the  borders  of  the  Lake,  and  awaited  the  attack  of  the 
enemy. 

Page  59. 

8  The  French  made  their  first  attack  on  the  Valley  of  UNDKHWAL- 
DF.TT  from  the  Lake:  but,  after  a  desperate  conflict,  they  were  victori- 
ously repelled,  and  two  of  their  vessels,  containing  five  hundred  men, 
perished  in  the  engagement. 

Page  60. 

9  In  the  last  and  decisive  battle,  the  UxTtEnwAtnr-Tis  were  over, 
powered  by  two  French  armies,  which  rushed  upon  them  from  the 
opposite  mountains,  and  surrounded  their  camp,  while  an  assault,  at 
the- same  time,  was  made  upon  them  from  the  Lake. 

Page  62. 

10  In  this  miserable  conflict,  many  of  the  women  and  children  of 
the  USTDEUWALIIKUS  fought  in  the  ranks  by  their  husbands,  and  fa- 
thers, and  friends,  and  fell  gloriously  for  their  country. 


NOTES   TO    VOL.    I.  397 


Page  63. 

11  Two  hundred  self-devoted  heroes  from  the  canton  of  SWITZ  ar- 
rived, at  the  close  of  the  battle,  to  the  aid  of  their  hrethreti  of  UNDKHWAL 
JJEN, — and  perished  to  a  man,  after  having  slain  thrice  their  number 

Page  63. 

12  The  LAVAXt;r.s  are  tremendous  torrents  of  melting  snow,  that 
tumble  from  the  tops  of  the  Alps,  and  deluge  all  the  country  before 
them. 

Page  65. 

13  Mont  BLAXC  ;  which  is  so  much  higher  than  the  surrounding 
Alps,  that  it  catches  and  retains  the  beams  of  the  sun  twenty  minutes 
earlier  and  later  than  they,  and,  crowned  with  eternal  ice,  may  be  seen 
from  an  immense  distance,  purpling  with  his  eastern  light,  or  crimsoned 
with  his  setting  glory,  while  mist  and  obscurity  rest  on  the  mountains 
below. 

Page  72. 

14  The  town  of  STANTZ,  and  the  surrounding  villages,  were  burnt  bv 
the  French  on  the  night  after  the  bat  lie  of  UNIIERWALDE.N,  and  the 
beautiful  valley  was  converted  into  a  wilderness. 

Page  75. 

15  There  ia  a  tradition  among  the  Swiss,  that  they  are  descended 
from  the  ancient  Scandinavians;  among  whom,  in  a  remote  age  there 
arose  so  grievous  a  famine,  that  it  was  determined  in  the  Assembly  of 
the  Nation,  that  every  tenth   man  and   his  family  should  quit  tlu-ir 
country,  and  seek  a  new  |M>ssession.    Six  thousand,  chosen  by  lot,  thus 
emigrated  at  once  from  the  North.     They  prayed  to  GJD  to  conduct 
them  to  a  land  like  their  own.  where  they  might  dwell  in  freedom  and 
quiet,  finding  food  for  their  families,  nnd  pasture  for  their  cattle.    ( i  >n, 
says  the  tradition,  led  them  to  a  valley  among  the  Alps,  where  thev 
cleared  away   the  forests,  built  the  town  of  SWITZ,  and  afterwords 
peopled  and  cultivated  the  cantons  of  Uiu  and  UMIEHWALIIKX. 


THE    WKST    INDIES. 

Page  81. 

t  Mungo  Parke,  in  his  travel*,  ascertained  that  "  the  tn^at  river  of 
the  Negroes"  flowa  tnt'wnnl.  It  in  probable,  therefore,  that  this  river 
is  cither  lost  among  the  sands,  or  empties  itself  into  some  inland  sea, 
in  the  undiscovered  regions  of  Africa,  See  alw  page  88,  Inir  llv. 

vol..  I.  34 


«8  N'.-TES    TO    VOL.    I. 


Page  83. 

2  When  the  author  of  The  West  Indies  conceived  the  pVsn  of  this 
introduction  of  Columbus,  he  was  not  aware  that  he  was  indebted  to 
any  preceding  poet  for  a  hint  on  the  subject ;  but,  some  time  afterwards, 
on  a  second  perusal  of  SOUTHEY'S  MADOC,  it  struck  him  that  the  idea 
of  Columbus  walking  on  the  shore  at  sunset,  which  he  had  hith.-jto 
imagined  his  own,  might  be  only  a  reflection  of  the  impression  made 
upon  his  mind  long  before,  by  the  first  reading  of  the  following  splendid 
passage.  He  "therefore  gladly  makes  this  acknowledgment,  though  at 
his  own  expense,  injustice  to  the  author  of  the  noblest  narrative  poem 
in  the  English  language, after  the  FAEHIE  QUEKSE  and  PARADISE  LOST. 
«  When  evening  came  toward  the  echoing  shore 

I  and  Cadwallon  walk'd  together  forth  : 

Bright  with  dilated  glory  shone  the  west ; 

But  brighter  lay  the  ocean  flood  below, 

The  burnish'd  silver  sea,  that  heaved  and  flash'd 

Its  restless  rays  intolerably  bright. 

<  Prince !'  quoth  Cadwallon, '  thou  hast  rode  the  waves 

In  triumph  when  the  Invader  felt  thine  arm. 

Oh !  what  a  nobler  conquest  might  be  won 

There, — upon  that  wide  field !' — '  What  meanest  thou!' 

I  cried : — '  That  yonder  waters  are  not  spread 

A  boundless  waste,  a  bourne  impassable ; 

That  thou  shouldst  rule  the  elements, — that  there 

Might  manly  courage,  manly  wisdom,  find 

Some  happy  isle,  some  undiscover'd  shore, 

Some  resting-place  for  peace.     Oh !  that  my  soul 

Could  seize  the  wings  of  morning !  soon  would  I 

Behold  that  other  world,  where  yonder  sun 

ftuw  speeds  to  dawn  in  glory.'  " 

Page  87. 

s  The  Cane  is  said  to  have  been  first  transplanted  from  Madeira  to 
the  Brazils,  by  the  Portuguese,  and  afterwards  introduced  by  tho 
Spaniards  into  the  Charibbee  Islands. 

Page  95. 

*  The  description  of  African  life  and  manners  that  follows,  and  the 
song  of  the  Negro's  daughters,  are  copied  »v  Jiout  exaggeration  from 
the  authentic  accounts  of  Mungo  Park. 

Page  102. 

6  The  context  preceding  and  following  this  line  alludes  to  the  old 
Bohemian  and  Moravian  Brethren,  who  flourished  long  before  the 


NOTES-  TO    VOL.    I.  399 


Reformation,  but  afterwards  were  almost  lost  among  the  Protestants, 
till  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  when  their  ancient  epis- 
copal church  was  revived  in  Lusatia,  by  some  refugees  from  Moravia. — 
See  Crantz's  Ancient  and  Modern  History  of  the  J'.reihren.  Histories 
of  the  missions  of  the  Brethren  in  Greenland,  North  America,  and  the 
West  Indies,  have  been  published  in  Germany :  those  of  the  two  former 
have  been  translated  into  English. — See  Crantz's  History  of  Greenland, 
and  Loskiel's  History  of  the  Brethren  among  the  Indians  in  North  Ame- 
rica. It  is  only  justice  here  to  observe,  that  Christians  of  other  de- 
nominations have  exerted  themselves  with  great  success  in  the  con- 
version of  the  Negroes.  No  invidious  preference  is  intended  to  be 
given  to  the  Moravians;  but,  knowing  them  best,  the  author  particu- 
larized this  society. 

Page  105. 

6  The  author  of  this  poem  confesses  himself  under  many  obligations 
to  Mr.  Wilberforce's  eloquent  letter  on  the  Abolition  of  the  Slave  Trade* 
addressed  to  the  Freeholders  of  Yorkshire,  and  published  in  1807,  pre- 
vious to  the  decision  of  the  question.  Las  Casas  has  been  accused  of 
being  a  promoter,  if  not  the  original  projector,  of  the  Negro  Slave  Trade 
to  the  West  Indies.  The  Abbe  Gregoirc  some  years  ago  published  a 
defence  of  this  great  and  good  man  against  the  degrading  imputation. 
The  following,  among  other  arguments  which  he  advances,  are  well 
worthy  of  consideration. 

The  slave  trade  between  Africa  and  the  West  Indies  commenced, 
according  to  Hcrrcra  himself,  the  first  and  indeed  the  only  accuser  of 
Las  Casas,  nineteen  years  before  the  epoch  of  his  pretended  project. 

Herrcra  (from  whom  other  authors  have  negligently  taken  the  fact 
for  granted,  on  his  bare  word)  docs  not  quote  a  single  authority  in  suj>- 
port  of  his  assertion  that  Las  Casas  recommended  the  importation  of 
Negroes  into  Hispaniola.  The  charge  itself  wasjirst  published  thirty- 
five  years  after  Um  death  of  Las  Casas.  All  writers  antecedent  to  Her- 
rera,  and  contemporary  with  him,  are  silent  on  the  subject,  although 
several  of  these  were  the  avowed  enemies  of  Las  Casas.  Hcrrcra  a 
veracity  on  other  points  is  much  disputed,  and  he  displays  violent  pre- 
judices against  the  man  whom  he  accuses.  It  may  be  added,  Unit  he 
was  greatly  indebted  to  him  for  information  as  ad  Historian  of  the  Indies. 

In  the  numerous  writings  of  Las  Casas  himself,  still  extant,  there  is 
not  one  word  in  favour  of  slavery  of  any  kind,  but  they  abound  with 
reasoning  and  invective  against  it  in  every  H!I.I|M-  ;  and  among  his  elo- 
quent appeals,  and  comprehensive  plans  on  behalf  of  the  oppressed 
Indians,  there  is  not  a  solitary  hint  in  recommendation  of  the  African 
Slave  Trade.  Ho  only  twice  mentions  the  Negroes  through  all  his 


400  NOTES   TO    Vt>L.    I. 


multifarious  writings ;  in  one  instance  he  merely  names  them  as  living 
in  the  islands,  (in  a  manuscript  in  the  National  Library  at  Paris ;) 
and  in  the  same  work  he  proposes  no  other  remedy  for  the  miseries  of 
the  aboriginal  inhabitants,  than  the  suppression  of  the  repartimientoa, 
or  divisions  of  the  people,  with  the  soil  on  which  they  were  born.  In 
another  memorial,  after  detailing  at  great  length  the  measures  which 
ought  *o  l>e  pursued  for  the  redress  of  the  Indians,  (the  proper  opj>or- 
tunity,  certainly,  U  advocate  the  Negro  Slave  Trade,  if  he  approved 
of  it,)  he  adds,-  "The  Indians  are  not  more  tormented  by  their  masters 
and  the  differei  t  public  officers,  than  by  their  servants  and  by  the 
Negroes" 

The  original  r.ccusation  of  Las  Casas,  translated  from  the  words  of 
Herrera,  is  as  fo  lows : — "  The  licentiate  Bartholomew  Las  Casas,  per- 
ceiving that  his  ^lans  experienced  on  all  sides  great  difficulties,  and  that 
the  expectations  which  he  had  formed  from  his  connection  with  the 
High  Chancellor,  and  the  favourable  opinion  the  latter  entertained  of 
him,  had  not  produced  any  effect,  projected  other  expedients,  such  as, 
to  procure  for  the  Castilians  established  in  the  Indies  a  cargo  of  Negroes, 
to  relieve  the  Indians  in  the  culture  of  the  earth  and  the  labour  of  the 
mines ;  also  to  obtain  a  great  number  of  working  men,  (from  Europe,) 
who  should  pass  over  into  those  regions  with  certain  privileges,  and  on 
certain  conditions1,  which  he  detailed." 

Let  this  statement  lie  compared  with  Dr.  Robertson's  most  exagge- 
rated account,  avowedly  taken  from  Herrera  alone,  and  let  every  man 
judge  for  himself,  whether  one  of  the  most  zealous  and  indefatigable 
advocates  of  freedom  that  ever  existed,  "  while  he  contended  earnestly 
for  the  liberty  of  the  people  born  in  one  quarter  of  the  globe,  laboured 
to  enslave  the  inhabitants  of  another  region,  and,  in  his  zeal  to  save  the 
Americans  from  the  yoke,  pronounced  it  to  be  lawful  and  ei-pedient  to 
impose  one  still  heavier  on  the  Africans." — Robertson's  History  of 
America,  Vol.  I.  Part  III.  But  the  circumstance  connected  by  Dr 
Robertson  with  this  supposed  scheme  of  Las  Casas  is  unwarranted  by 
any  authority,  and  makes  his  own  of  no  value.  He  adds — "  The  plan 
of  Las  Casas  was  adopted.  \.'harles  V.  granted  a  patent  to  one  of  his 
Flemish  favourites,  containing  an  exclusive  right  of  importing  four 
thousand  nep^oes  into  America."  Herrera,  the  only  author  whom  Dr. 
Robertson  pretends  to  follow,  does  not,  hi  any  place,  associate  his  ran- 
dom charge  against  Las  Casas  with  this  acknowledged  and  most  in- 
famous act.  I  e  crime  of  having  first  recommended  the  importation 
of  African  slaves  into  the  American  islands  is  attributed,  by  three  writers 
of  the  life  of  Cardinal  Ximenes,  (who  rendered  himself  illustrious  by 
his  opposition  to  the  trade  in  its  infancy,)  to  Chievres,  and  by  two 


NOTES    TO    VOL.    I.  401 


others  to  the  Flemish  nobili'y  themselves,  who  obtained  the  monopoly 
aforementioned,  and  which  was  sold  to  some  <•  Genoese  merchants  far 
25,000  ducats :  and  they  were  the  first!  who  brought  into  a  regular  form 
that  commerce  for  slaves  between  Africa  and  America,  which  has  since 
been  carried  on  to  such  an  amazing  extent" — It  is  unnecessary  to  say 
more  on  the  subject. — A  translation  of  Gregoire's  defence  of  Las  ('asas 
was  published  in  1803,  by  H.  D.  Symonds,  Paternoster  Row. 


THE    WORLD    BEFORE    THE    FLOOD. 
Page  194. 

1  This  passage,  the  reader  will  perceive,  is  an  imitation  of  some 
verses  in  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  the  Prophecy  of  Isaiah,  which  are 
applied  to  the  fall  of  the  King  of  Babylon.  The  following  extract  from 
Bishop  Lowth's  note  on  the  original  will  elucidate  the  paraphrase: 
— "  The  regions  of  the  Dead  are  laid  open,  and  Hades  is  represented  as 
rousing  up  the  shades  of  the  departed  monarchs ;  they  rise  from  their 
thrones  to  meet  the  King  of  Babylon  at  his  coming;  and  insult  him  on, 
his  being  reduced  to  the  same  low  state  of  impotence  and  dissolution 
with  themselves.  •*••*»  The  image  of  the  state  of  the  Dead> 
or  the  Infernwn  Poefintra  of  the  Hebrews,  is  taken  from  their  custom 
of  burying,  those  at  least  of  the  highest  rank,  in  large  sepulchral  vaults 
hewn  in  the  rock.  Of  this  kind  of  sepulchres  there  are  remains  at  Je- 
rusalem now  extant ;  and  some  that  are  said  to  be  the  sepulchres  of  the 
kings  of  Judah.  See  Maundrell,  p.  76.  You  are  to  form  to  yourself 
the  idea  of  an  immense  subterraneous  vault,  a  vast  gloomy  cavern,  all 
round  the  sides  of  which  there  are  cells  to  receive  the  dead  bodies: 
here  the  deceased  monarchs  lie  in  a  distinguished  sort  of  state,  suitable 
to  their  former  rank,  each  on  his  own  couch,  with  his  arms  beside  him, 
his  sword  at  his  head,  and  the  bodies  of  his  chiefs  and  companions 
around  him.  *  *  •  *  •  These  illustrious  shades  rise  at  once  from 
their  couches,  as  from  their  thrones ;  and  advance  to  the  entrance  of  the 
cavern  to  meet  the  King  of  Babylon,  and  to  receive  him  with  insults  on 
hia  fall." — LOWTH'B  haiah,  xiv.  9,  el  seq. 


GREENLAND. 
Page  209. 

I  John  Amos  Oomonius,  one  of  the  mont  learned  as  well  as  pioui 
men  of  hia  age,  was  minuter  of  the  Brethren's  congregation  at  Fulncck, 

34* 


NOTES    TO    VOL.  I. 


in  Moravia,  from  1618  to  1627,  when,  the  Protestant  nobility  and  clergy 
being  expatriated,  he  fled  with  a  part  of  his  people  through  Silesia  into 
Poland.  On  the  summit  of  the  mountains  forming  t'ue  boundary,  he 
turned  his  sorrowful  eyes  towards  Bohemia  and  Moravia,  and  kneeling 
down  with  his  brethren  there,  implored  God,  with  many  tears,  that  he 
•would  not  take  away  the  light  of  his  holy  word  from  those  two  provinces, 
but  preserve  in  them  a  remnant  for  himself.  A  remnant  was  saved. 

Page  239. 

2  Spenser  introduces  Prince  Arthur  as  traversing  the  world  in  soarr h 
of  his  mistress  Gloriana,  whom  he  had  only  seen  in  a  dream.     Tht  dis- 
covery of  a  region  in  the  west,  by  the  Greenland  Norwegians,  about  the 
year  1000,  and  intercourse  maintained  with  it  for  120  years  aiterwards,* 
may  be  considered  as  the  most  curious  fact  or  fable  connected  with  the 
history  of  these  colonists.     The  reason  why  it  was  called  Wineland  is 
given  in  the  sequel. 

Page  243. 

3  The  incidents  alluded  to  in  this  clause  are  presumed  to  have  occa- 
sioned the  extinction  of  the  Norwegian  colonists  on  the  western  coast 
of  Greenland.      Crantz  says,  that  there  is  a  district  on  Ball's  river, 
called  Pissiksarbik,  or  the  place  of  arrmcs;  where  it  is  believed,  that  the 
Skraellings  and  Norwegians  fought  a  battle,  in  which  the  latter  were 
defeated.     The  modern  Greenlanders  affirm,  that  the  name  is  derived 
from  the  circumstance  of  the  parties  having  shot  their  arrows  at  one 
another  from  opposite  banks  of  the  stream.     Many  ruder  a,  or  ruins  of 
ancient  buildings,  principally  supposed  to  have  been  churches,  are  found 
along  the  coast  from  Disco  Bay  to  Cape  Farewell. 

Page  252. 

<  The  principal  phenomena  descrilwd  in  this  disruption  of  so  im- 
mense a  breadth  of  ice,  are  introduced  on  the  authority  of  an  authentic 
narrative  of  a  journey  on  sledges  along  the  coast  of  Labrador,  by  two 
Moravian  missionaries  and  a  number  of  Esquimaux,  in  the  year  1782. 
The  first  incident  in  this  canto,  the  destruction  of  the  snow  house,  is 
partly  borrowed  from  the  same  record. 

Page  253. 

6  The  ice-bergs,  both  fixed  and  floating,  present  the  most  fantastic 
ni.d  magnificent  forms,  which  an  active  imaghiatior  may  easily  convert 
into  landscape  scenery.  Crantz  says,  that  some  of  these  look  like 


NOTES    TO    VOL.  I. 


churches,  with  pillars,  arches,  portals,  and  illuminated  windows ;  others 
like  castles,  with  square  and  spiral  turrets.  A  third  class  assumes  the 
appearance  of  ships  in  full  sail,  to  which  pilots  have  occasionally  gone 
out,  for  the  purpose  of  conducting  them  into  harbour ;  many  again  re- 
semble large  islands,  with  hill  and  dale,  as  well  as  villages,  and  even 
cities,  built  upon  the  margin  of  the  sea.  Two  of  these  stood  for  many 
years  in  Disco  Bay,  which  the  Dutch  whalers  called  Amsterdam  and 
Haarlem. 

Page  254. 

'  Greenland  has  been  supplied  with  fuel,  from  time  immemorial, 
brought  by  the  tide  from  the  northern  shores  of  Asia,  and  other  regions, 
probably  even  from  California,  and  the  coast  of  America  towards  Behr- 
ing's  Straits.  This  annual  provision,  however,  has  gradually  been  de- 
creasing for  some  years  past  [being  partly  intercepted  by  the  accumula- 
tion of  ice]  on  the  shores  of  modern  Greenland,  towards  Davis's  Straits. 
Should  it  fail  altogether,  that  country  [like  the  east]  must  become  unin- 
habitable ;  as  the  natives  themselves  employ  wood  in  the  construction  of 
their  houses,  their  boats,  and  their  implements  of  fishing,  hunting,  and 
shooting,  and  could  not  find  any  adequate  substitute  for  it  at  home. 

Page  258. 

i  The  depopulation  of  Old  Greenland  is  supposed  to  have  been  great- 
ly accelerated  by  the  introduction  of  the  plague,  which,  under  the  name 
of  the  Black  Death,  made  dreadful  havoc  throughout  Europe  towards  the 
close  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

Page  259. 

»  The  Danish  Chronicle  says,  that  the  Greenland  colonists  were  tri- 
butary to  the  kings  of  Norway  from  the  year  1023;  soon  after  which 
they  embraced  Christianity.  In  its  more  flourishing  period  this  province 
is  stated  to  have  been  divided  into  a  hundred  parishes,  under  the  superin- 
tendence of  a  bishop.  From  1120  to  1408  the  succession  of  seventeen 
bishops  is  recorded.  In  the  last-mentioned  year,  Andrew,  ordained  bi- 
shop of  Greenland  by  Askill,  archbishop  of  Dronthcim,  sailed  for  his  dio- 
cese, but  whether  he  arrived  there,  or  was  cast  away,  was  never  known. 
To  hut  imagined  fate  this  episode  alludes. 


TRANSLATIONS. 

Page  375. 

1  The  simple  and  sublime  original  of  these  stanzas,  with  the  fine 
air  by  Hummel,  became  the  national  song  of  Germany,  and  was  sung 


NOTES   TO    VOL.  1. 


by  the  soldiers  especially,  during  the  latter  campaigns  of  the  war,  when 
Bonaparte  was  twice  dethroned,  and  Europe  finally  delivered  from 
French  predominance. 

Page  380. 

*  This  miserable  culprit  had  been  a  metallurgist  of  Brescia,  who,  at 
the  instance  of  Guido,  Alessandro,  and  Aginulpho,  three  nobles  of  Ko- 
mcna,  counterfeited  the  gold  florin  of  Tuscany,  which  bore  the  impress 
of  the  Baptist's  head. — Branda  is  a  beautiful  fountain  at  Siena. 

Page  382. 

s  The  same  comparison  is  used  on  another  like  occasion,  with  a  sin 
gular  though  minute  variation. 

And  as  an  arrow  hits  the  mark,  before 
The  cord  hath  ceased  to  tremble  on  the  bow, 
Thus  had  we  reach'd  the  second  region. 

Del  Paradiso,  canto  v. 

Page  390. 

*  Alluding,  it  is  supposed,  to   the  fact  that  Guido   had   forsaken 
poetry  for  philosophy,  or  preferred  the  latter  so  much  to  the  former,  u 
to  think  lightly  of  Virgil  himself  in  comparison  with  Aristotle. 


€>!•!* 


OF  lr\L  NVJTHOR 


;CMPLETE    IN    TWO   VOLUMES 


«llM  14,  ,r~,,,,S*./'*A.il,  .,»,.*,<,  I/I, 


POETICAL  WOEKS 


OF 


JAMES  MONTGOMERY, 


JHcmoir  of  tlje  2ltttl)or, 

BT 

THE  REV.  RUFUS  W.   GRISWOLD 
IN    TWO    VOLUMES. 

VOL.   II. 


BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON    AND   COMPANY. 
1859. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1845,  by 

SORIN    &    BALL, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS, 


THOUGHTS  ON  WHEELS. 

PaRfl 

No.  I.— The  Combat 13 

No.  II. — The  Car  of  Juggernaut 14 

No.  III. — The  Inquisition      !••••»••  15 

No.  IV.— The  State  Lottery       .        .  ....  17 

No.  V.— To  Britain 25 

THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 

Prologue. — A  Word  with  Myself 31 

No.  I.— The  Complaint 33 

No.  II.— The  Dream 35 

No.  III.— Easter-Monday  at  Sheffield 41 

SONGS  OF  ZION,  BEING  IMITATIONS  OF  THE 
PSALMS. 

Psalm  1 50 

Psalm  III 51 

Psalm  IV.— No.  1 52 

Psalm  IV.— No.  2 52 

Psalm  VIII 53 

Psalm.  XI 53 

Psalm  XV.          • 54 

Psnlm  XIX.— No.  1 55 

Psalm  XIX.— No.  2 55 

Psalm  XX 56 

Psalm  XXIII 57 

Psalm  XXIV.— No.  1 58 

Psalm  XXIV.— No.  2 58 

Psalm  XXIV.— No.  1.    (The  Second  Version.)    ....  59 

Psalm  XXIV.— No.  2.    (The  Second  Version.)        ...  59 

Psalm  XXVII.— No.  1 60 

Psalm  XXVII.— No.  2 61 

Psalm  XXIX 62 

Psalm  XXX 62 

Psalm  XXXIX 64 

Psalm  XLII.— No.  1 .65 

Psalm  XLII.— No.  2 66 

Psalm  XLIII.— No.  3 •  66 

Psalm  XLVI.-No.  1                                                                    .  67 


CONTENTS. 


Paga 

Psalm  XL VI.— No.  2 68 

Psalm  XLVII 69 

Psalm  XLVIII 69 

Psalm  LI 70 

Psalm  LXIII 72 

Psalm  LXIX 72 

Psalm  LXX 73 

Psalm  LXXI 74 

Psalm  LXXII 75 

Psalm  LXXIII 77 

Psalm  LXXVII. 78 

Psalm  LXXX 80 

Psalm  LXXXIV 81 

Psalm  XC 82 

Psalm  XCI 83 

Psalm  XCIII 85 

Psalm  XCV 85 

Psalm  C 86 

Psalm  CIII. 87 

Psalm  CIV 88 

Psalm  CVIL— No.  1 91 

Psalm  CVIL— No.  2 91 

Psalm  CVIL— No.  3 92 

Psalm  CVIL— No.  4 93 

Psalm  CVIL— No.  5 94 

Psalm  CXIII 95 

Psalm  CXVI 95 

Psalm  CXVII 96 

Psalm  CXXI 97 

Psalm  CXXII 98 

Psalm  CXXIV 98 

Psalm  CXXV 99 

Psalm  CXXVI 100 

Psalm  CXXX 101 

Psalm  CXXXI 102 

Psalm  CXXXIL— No.  1 102 

Psalm  CXXXIL—  No.  2 103 

Psalm  CXXXIII 103 

Psalm  CXXXIV 104 

Psalm  CXXXVI1 104 

Psalm  CXXXVIIL 105 

Psalm  CXXXIX 106 

Psalm  CXLI 107 

Psalm  CXLII 108 

Psalm  CXLIII 109 

Psalm  CXLV 110 

Psalm  CXLVI ...  110 

Psalm  CXL VIII Ill 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
NARRATIVES. 

Farewell  to  War 113 

Lord  Falkland's  Dream.    A.  p.  1643          .        .        .        .        .       115 

The  Patriot's  Pass-word .        .125 

The  Voyage  of  the  Blind 128 

An  Every-Day  Tale 136 

A  Tale  without  a  Name 140 

A  Snake  in  the  Grass 154 

The  Cast-away  Ship 158 

The  Sequel      .  161 

TRIBUTARY  POEMS. 
To  the  Memory  of  the  late  Richard  Reynolds       ....  164 

I.— The  Death  of  the  Righteous 164 

II.— The  Memory  of  the  Just 165 

III. — A  Good  Man's  Monument •      168 

To  the  Memory  of  Rowland  Hodgson,  Esq.,  of  Sheffield     .        .  171 
"  Occupy  till  I  come."     On  the  Death  of  the  late  Joseph  Butter- 
worth,  Esq • .        .       175 

In  Memory  of  the  Rev.  James  Harvey 177 

To  the  Memory  of  the  late  Joseph  Browne,  of  Lothersdale  .  179 
To  the  Memory  of  the  Rev.  Thomas  Spencer,  of  Liverpool  .  181 
The  Christian  Soldier.  Occasioned  by  the  sudden  Death  of  the 

Rev.  Thomas  Taylor 184 

A  Recollection  of  Mary  F 185 

In  Memory  of  E.  B.,  formerly  E.  R 186 

In  Memory  of  E.  G 187 

M.  S.    To  the  Memory  of  "  A  Female  whom  Sickness  had  Re- 
conciled to  the  Notes  of  Sorrow" 188 

On  the  Royal  Infant 193 

A  Mother's  Lament  on  the  Death  of  her  Infant  Daughter  .  .  194 
The  Widow  and  the  Fatherless 195 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  Lyre 197 

Remonstrance  to  Winter 200 

Round  Love's  Elysian  Bowers 201 

Lines  written  under  a  Drawing  of  Ynrdley  Oak  .  .  .  202 
Written  for  a  Society  whoso  Motto  was  "  Friendship,  Love,  and 

Truth" 203 

Religion.     An  occasional  Hymn 204 

The  Joy  of  Grief    .        .        .        .  •      .        .        .        .        .        .205 

The  Battle  of  Alexandria 207 

The  Pillow 211 

Ode  to  the  Volunteers  of  Britain        .       .        .  '     .        .        .      215 

The  Vigil  of  St.  Mark 218 

Hannah 223 

A  Field  Flower  .  225 


CONTENTS. 


Pap* 

The  Snow-drop 226 

An  Epitaph 229 

The  Ocean 230 

The  Common  Lot 235 

The  Harp  of  Sorrow 236 

Pope's  Willow 238 

A  Walk  in  Spring 241 

To  Agnes 245 

A  Deed  of  Darkness 246 

The  Dial 248 

Emblems 249 

A  Message  from  the  Moon 251 

A  Bridal  Benison        .........       253 

The  Blackbird .254 

The  Myrtle 255 

A  Death-Bed 256 

Dale  Abbey 257 

In  Bereavement .  258 

Coronation  Ode  for  Queen  Victoria 259 

The  Wild  Pink,  on  the  Wall  of  Malmesbury  Abbey    .        .        .260 

Parting  Words 2C3 

The  Roses 264 

Elijah  in  the  Wilderness 205 

Stanzas  on  the  Death  of  the  late  Rev.  Thomas  Rawson  Taylor     .  269 

Christ  the  Purifier 270 

"  A  Certain  Disciple" 271 

The  Communion  of  Saints 272 

"  Perils  by  the  Heathen" 273 

A  Midnight  Thought 275 

The  Peak  Mountains 276 

To  Ann  and  Jane .       281 

Transmigrations 282 

Chatterton 284 

A  Daughter  (C.  M.)  to  her  Mother,  on  her  Birth-Day  .  .  .285 
On  Finding  the  Feathers  of  a  Linnet  scattered  on  the  Ground  .  288 
Occasional  Ode  for  the  Anniversary  of  the  Royal  British  System 

of  Education 290 

Departed  Days :  A  Rhapsody     . 291 

The  Bible 294 

The  Wild  Rose 295 

The  Time-Piece 298 

A  Mother's  Love 300 

The  Visible  Creation      .........  302 

Reminiscences     ..........       303 

The  Reign  of  Spring 304 

The  Reign  of  Summer 307 

Instruction 316 

A  Night  in  a  Stage  -Coach 317 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
Incognita :  On  viewing  the  Picture  of  an  unknown  Lady      .        .  320 

Winter-Lightning 323 

The  Little  Cloud 324 

Abdallah  and  Sabat 329 

Questions  and  Answers          ••••••••  334 

The  Alps :  A  Reverie 335 

The  Bridal  and  the  Burial 339 

Youth  Renewed         .........       340 

The  Daisy  in  India 341 

The  Pilgrim 343 

Robert  Burns 344 

The  Stranger  and  his  Friend      .......       345 

Friends 347 

A  Theme  for  a  Poet 348 

Night 351 

Aspirations  of  Youth 353 

A  Hermitage 354 

Inscription  under  the  Picture  of  an  aged  Negro  Woman   .        .       355 

The  Adventure  of  a  Star 356 

On  Planting  a  Tulip-Root 359 

The  Drought.    Written  in  the  Summer  of  1826     .        .        .        .360 

The  Falling  Leaf 362 

Thoughts  and  Images 363 

The  Ages  of  Man 366 

The  Grave 367 

Bolehill  Trees 371 

The  Old  Man's  Song 373 

The  Glow- Worm 374 

The  Mole-Hill 375 

A  Voyage  Round  the  World     . 381 

Humility 387 

Birds 388 

The  Gcntianclla 396 

A  Lucid  Interval 397 

Worms  and  Flowers 399 

The  Recluse 400 

Time :  A  Rhapsody       .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .401 

To  a  Friend,  with  a  Copy  of  the  foregoing  Lucubration    .        .      403 

The  Retreat 404 

The  Lily.    To  a  Young  Lady,  E.  P 407 

The  Sky-Lark.    Addressed  to  a  Friend 408 

The  Fixed  Stars 409 

A  Cry  from  South  Africa.     On  building  a  Chanel  at  Cape  Town, 

for  the  Negro  Slaves  of  the  Colony,  in  1828         .        .        .  410 

Speed  the  Prow 412 

The  Cholera  Mount.  Lines  on  the  Burying-PIace  for  Patients 
who  died  of  Cholera  Morbus ;  a  pleasant  Eminence  in 
Sheffield  Park  .  .  .413 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
To  Mary 416 

Short-Hand.    Stanzas  addressed  to  E.  P 416 

To  my  Friend  George  Bennet,  Esq.,  of  Sheffield      .        .        .       417 
One  Warning  more.    Written  for  Distribution  on  a  Race- Course, 

1824 .        .        .        .420 

A  Riddle.     Addressed  to  E.  R.  1820          .....       421 

The  Tombs  of  the  Fathers 422 

The  Sun-Flower 426 

For  J.  S.    A  Preamble  to  her  Album 427 

To  Cynthia :  A  Young  Lady,  unkmown  to  the  Author,  who,  by 
Letter,  requested  "  a  Stanza,"  or  "  a  few  Lines  in  his  Hand- 
writing"   428 

On  a  Watch-Pocket  worked  by  A.  L 429 

An  Infant's  Album 431 

To  Margaret;   a  little  Girl,  who  begged  to  have  some  Verses 

from  the  Author,  at  Scarborough,  in  1814   ....  433 

The  blank  Leaf  ...  - 434 

The  Gnat.  Written  with  Pencil  round  an  Insect  of  that  kind, 
which  had  been  accidentally  crushed,  and  remained  fixed  on 
a  blank  Page  of  a  Lady's  Album  ....  434 

Morna .       435 

The  Valentine  Wreath 439 

The  Widow.    Written  at  the  Request  of  a  Lady,  who  furnished 

several  of  the  Lines  and  the  Plan  of  the  whole        .        .       440 
Motto  to  "  a  Poet's  Portfolio."   (Fragment  of  a  Page  of  Oblivion)  442 

At  Home  in  Heaven 443 

The  Veil         .        . 446 

Heaven  in  Prospect 446 

On  the  First  Leaf  of  Miss  J.'s  Album 447 

The  Sand  and  the  Rock     .       '. 448 

"  Lovest  thou  Me" 451 

Garden  Thoughts.     On  Occasion  of  a  Christian  Assembly  in  the 
Grounds  of  a  Gentleman  at  York,  for  the  Purpose  of  pro- 
moting Missions  among  the  Heathen        ....       452 
To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  T.,  of  York,  with  the  foregoing  Stanzas    .        .  454 

The  Field  of  the  World 455 

Farewell  to  a  Missionary 456 

"  The  Prisoner  of  the  Lord."      A  Sabbath  Hymn  for  a  sick 

Chamber 457 

An  After-Thought 458 

Our  Saviour's  Prayers 459 

Reminiscence 4C2 

Evening  Time ...       463 

The  Lot  of  the  Righteous 464 

A  Benediction  for  a  Baby 466 

Evening  Song.     For  the  Sabbath-Day 467 

A  Wedding  Wish.     To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  H 468 


THOUGHTS  ON  WHEELS. 


DURING  the  greater  part  of  the  last  forty  years  it  has  been  my  privilege 
to  be  connected,  rather  as  an  auxiliary  than  a  principal,  in  many  a  plan  for 
lessening  the  sum  of  human  misery  at  home  and  abroad,  with  three  gen- 
tlemen of  this  neighbourhood,  Mr.  SAMUEL  ROBEBTS,  Mr.  GEORGE  BENNET, 
and  Mr.  ROWLAND  HODGSON.  Of  the  two  latter  1  need  not  speak  here, 
because  proofs  of  my  esteem  for  each,  distinctly,  will  be  found  in  another 
part  of  this  collection.  With  Mr.  Roberts,  however,  it  happened,  that  I  have 
been  more  particularly  and  actively  concerned  on  occasions  rather  general 
than  local,  such  as  the  questions  of  the  Slave  Trade  and  Slavery,  the  State 
Lottery,  and  the  practice  of  employing  climbing  boys  to  sweep  chimneys.  In 
these,  the  zeal,  the  energy,  and  the  indefaligabilily  of  my  friend  far  surpassed 
any  corresponding  qualifications  which  1  could  e.vrn  i.-r  in  aid  of  the  frequent 
causes  in  which  we  have  been  engaged  together.  Though,  like  Jehonadab's 
with  Jehu'*,  my  heart  was  always  with  his  heart,  it  was  not  in  every  enterprise 
that  I  had  the  courage  to  accept  his  invitation  to  "come  up  to  (him)  into  the 
chariot;"  for  the  adversary's  watchmen,  descry  ins  his  approach  from  their 
walls,  might  truly  exclaim,  "  His  driving  is  like  the  driving  of  the  son  of  Nimshi, 
for  he  driveth  furiously."  When,  however,  I  could  not  do  this,  I  girded  myself 
up  to  run  alongside  of  him,  till  I  could  no  more  keep  p.ice  with  his  speed :  I  then 
followed  him  ns  far  as  my  breath  and  strength  would  carry  me.  Among  those 
who  know  him  best,  and  esteem  him  proportionably,  though  1  may  perhaps  call 
myself  the  foremost, — having,  more  than  any  other  individual,  had  opportunities 
of  understanding  his  motives,  and  judging  his  public  conduct  hy  these,— I  must 
not  attempt,  in  this  pluce,  "to  give  him  honour  due,"  further  than  by  simply  re- 
cording my  own  obligations  to  him,  for  having,  by  his  intrepidity  and  example 
on  some  trying  occasions,  caused  me  to  do  a  little  less  harm,  and  a  little  more 
good  in  my  generation,  than  1  should  otherwise  have  had  forbearance  in  the 
one  case  to  avoid,  or  fortitude  in  the  other  to  undertake. 

This  influence  was  more  especially  ascendant  over  my  natural  indolence  and 
timidity,  in  our  joint  efforts  through  a  series  of  years  to  rouse  the  country,  and 
to  persuade  the  legislature  against  "the  Slate  Lottery"  ns  n  system  of  legalized 
gambling,  and  "the  employment  of  climbing  boys  to  sweep  chimneys  as  a  sys- 
tem of  home-slavery." 

In  reference  to  the  former  I  may  here  state,  that  It  hnd  been  the  practice,  as 
long  as  I  can  remember,  for  the  publishers  of  newspapers  to  procure  lottery 
tickets  for  persons  who  applied  for  them,  from  any  of  the  offices  with  which 
they  had  current  account*  for  ndvertising. 

From  ITul,  when  I  entered  U|K>II  the  property  of  the  Sheffield  Irit,  till  1801  or 
1803,  I  wai  in  the  habit  of  executing  such  commission*  to  a  very  small  amount 
annually.  I  know  not  what  lottery  speculations  may  have  been  made  other- 
wise in  this  neighbourhood  ;  but  if  my  pale?  were  the  standard  of  probabilities 
In  so  obscure  a  case,  little  of  the  money  tint  was  got  u|ion  the  anvil  was  thrown 
into  the  flrr,  for  the  purchase  of  blanks,  where  prizes  were  contemplated  in  re- 
venion. 

Once,  however,  about  the  above-mentioned  date,  I  hud  the  misfortune  to  sell 
the  sixteenth  of  a  ticket  which  turned  upa  prize  of  lu-rnly  ihnutand  pound*.  Tin; 
price  to  be  paid  for  the  share,  I  think,  wan  23*.  Od.,  and  the  person  who  bespoke 
i'  had  left  n  guinen  towards  payment,  as  the  innrket  price  could  not  be  ascer 
talned  (III  Hi--  voucher  came  from  London.  Accoidingly  1  received  it  who  a  fer 


10 


THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS 


others  which  had  been  ordered  in  like  manner,  and  pledzes  deposited.  These, 
with  the  exception  of  that  particular  one,  were  duly  fetched  by  the  parties  who 
had  bespoken  them.  In  those  days  the  registering  of  tickets  and  shares  was  en- 
tirely done  in  the  metropolitan  offices,  the  names  and  addresses  of  the  adven- 
turers being  transmitted  from  the  country  by  their  respective  correspondents. 
Whatever  then  might  be  the  fate  or  the  fortune  of  the  numbers  delivered  by  me, 
I  knew  nothing  of  the  event  unless  the  buyers  themselves  informed  me,  which 
Oey  usually  did  when  the  prizes  were  small  ones,  and  almost  as  usually  ex- 
changed them  for  new  ventures  in  the  current  or  next  lottery,  paying  the  differ- 
ence, which  was  necessarily  on  the  losing  side,  (the  schemes  being  ingeniously 
contrived  to  effect  that,)  till  a  blank  made  amends  for  all, — if  it  happened  to 
cure  the  lottery-fit,  though  that  kind  of  fever  being  intermittent,  patients  once 
affected  were  fearfully  liable  to  returns. 

In  the  case  above  mentioned,  the  share  remained  week  after  week  uncalled 
for  in  my  desk,  while  the  drawing  continued,  and  till  it  was  nearly  at  an  end. 
In  fact,  I  had  given  it  upas  a  bad  speculation  of  my  own,  so  far  as  what  was  due 
upon  it  had  been  hazarded  to  a  stranger,  concluding  that  it  must  have  been 
drawn  a  blank,  and  that  my  customer  would  take  no  more  trouble  about  it.  I 
well  recollect  throwing  it  aside  among  some  indifferent  papers,  and  muttering  to 
myself, — "There  lies  half-a-crown."  One  evening,  however,  a  man  from  a  vil- 
lage in  Derbyshire  called  upon  me  in  considerable  agitation,  and  presented  an 
open  letter  addressed  to  a  female  in  whose  name  the  share  had  been  registered 
at  the  office  (Nicholson's)  in  London,  announcing  that  the  ticket  had  been 
drawn  a  prize  of  twenty  thousand  pounds,  with  a  hint,  that,  when  the  lady  re- 
ceived the  money,  it  was  hoped  she  would  remember  the  clerks  in  the  office 
Till  then  the  said  lady  did  not  so  much  as  know  the  number  of  which  a  sixteenth 
had  been  thus  registered  to  her.  I  was  not  a  little  bewildered  myself  at  first, 
scarcely  remembering  when  I  had  last  seen  the  precious  scrap  of  paper ;  and, 
doubting  whether  the  intelligence  were  not  a  hoax,  and  whether  the  applicant, 
who  professed  himself  a  relation  of  the  owner,  were  a  true  man.  But,  having 
found  the  share,  and  ascertained  the  other  points,  I  delivered  it  into  the  messen- 
ger's hands,  and  received  the  small  balance  due  to  me  upon  it.  I  was  after- 
wards told,  that  the  guinea  which  had  been  paid  to  me  in  advance  was  put  into 
the  lottery  "for  luck's  sake,"  having  been  found  unexpectedly  in  a  paper  with 
some  sugar-candy,  in  a  neglected  drawer.  The  fortunate  recoverer  of  the  un- 
redeemed prize  that  had  fallen  to  her,  like  one  of  the  forgotten  things  which  the 
moon  has  been  said  to  contain, 

"  Where  heroes'  witt  ire  kept  in  ponderous  vases, 
And  beaux'  in  snuffboxes  and  tweezer-cases," 

(Safe  of  the  Lock,  canto  v.) 

proved  to  be  a  very  respectable  matron  in  good  circumstances,  and  of  prudent 
habits.  Instead  of  eagerly  seizing  the  spoil  at  the  expense  of  the  small  discount, 
she  waited  till  the  money  was  full  due,  and  never  afterwards,  so  far  as  I  was 
concerned,  risked  more  than  the  price  of  another  sixteenth  at  once  in  a  lottery 
or  two  following. 

But  the  strangeness  of  this  great  event  in  provincial  lottery  annals  did  not  end 
here.  The  successful  ticket  had  been  distributed,  if  I  rightly  remember,  entirely 
in  sixteenths,  and  sold  in  different  parts  of  the  kingdom.  This  being  blazoned 
in  all  the  newspapers,  occasioned  an  extraordinary  demand  for  shares  in  the 
ensuing  lottery,  and  mine  being  deemed  "a  Lucky  Office,"  commissions  came 
pouring  upon  me  in  a  manner  and  multitude  beyond  precedent.  These  I  was 
enabled  to  supply  on  a  new  plan,  which,  I  confess,  I  thought  very  hazardous  to 
the  metropo'\an  office  keepers,  who,  availing  themselves  of  this  "tide"  in  the 
tea  of  buh'  ies,  took  it  "at  the  flood,"  not  doubting  that  it  would  "lead  on  to  for- 
tune" >~  their  "affairs."  Accordingly  they  appointed  agencies  throughout  the 
coun*  /,  and  one  of  these  being  offered  to  me  by  a  first-rate  house,  I  accepted  it 
agr  mere  matter  of  business,  and  for  several  years  I  was  in  the  habit  of  dis- 


L— — 


THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS. 


posing  from  twenty  to  fifty  times  as  many  tickets  and  shares  as  I  had  ever  done 
before.  Besides  the  small  commission  on  the  amount  sold,  being  from  that  time 
allowed  the  perquisite  for  registering  the  numbers  myself,  and  communicating 
the  results  to  my  customers,  I  received  from  day  to  day  the  lists  of  the  draw- 
ings, and  became  practically  acquainted  with  the  risks  and  the  returns,— indeed 
so  well  acquainted,  that,  (limn;  the  term  of  my  agency,  I  was  never  for  a  mo- 
ment tempted  to  hazard  a  shilling  on  a  turn  of  the  wheels  fur  myself.  On  one 
occasion  only,  when  the  drawing  was  to  be  closed  on  an  early  day,  and  I  had  to 
send  back  to  my  principals  the  unsold  shares  in  my  hands,  I  retained  two-eighths 
in  expectation  of  having  calls  for  them  before  the  last  drawing.  One  was  sold, 
the  other  remained  with  me,  but  proving  a  small  prize  I  escaped  comparatively 
unscathed. 

Now  of  all  the  thousands  in  every  variety  of  numbers  which  passed  through 
my  hands,  including  sold  and  returned,  I  do  not  recollect  more  than  three  shares 
of  prizes  above  25/. — namely,  two  of  5(M.  and  a  third  of  120J. ;  the  former  dis 
posed  of,  the  latter  sent  back.  I  thought  at  first  that  th»  rage  for  this  losing 
game  would  soon  abate  of  itself  I  was  mistaken;  and  though  after  a  year  or 
two  it  was  less  prodigally  and  promiscuously,  yet  it  wag  more  steadily  pursued 
by  regular  customers,  to  whom  the  habitual  stimulus  became  as  necessary  to 
provoke  and  appease,  while  in  both  cases  it  mocked,  the  "«ur»  sacra  fames,"  as 
dram-drinking  and  opium-eating  are  to  diseased  appetites  of  another  kind.  In 
addition  to  these  perennials,  there  was  an  annual  succession  of  inexperienced 
votaries  of  wealth,  who  came  and  tried,  and  withdrew,  when  they  had  grown 
wiser  or  warier  at  a  reasonable  cost.  And  here  I  must  observe  that  the  grosser 
evils  of  lotteries,  flagrant  as  they  were  in  the  metropolis,  came  not  within  my 
observation  here;  what  1  knew  personally  i,( the  original  sin  of  the  system  was 
learned  by  its  ordinary  effects.  My  dealings  were  principally  with  person?  in 
moderate  circumstances,  yet  with  a  considerable  proportion  of  work-people  and 
others  who  might  have  invested  their  small  savings  (if  savings  '.hey  were)  on 
much  better  securities  than  the  notes  which  my  bank  issued.  It  was  one  of  the 
lame  pleas  for  the  State  Lottery  in  Parliament,  that  after  the  suppression  of  the 
infamous  insurance-offices — which  never  existed  here — there  remained  no  longer 
a  snare  to  tempt  the  poor  to  take  this  rnyal  way  to  riches,  the  lowest  fraction  of 
a  ticket  in  the  market  being  beyond  their  power  of  purchase  Whatever  the 
case  might  be  in  London,  the  rich  in  this  neighbourhood,  if  they  speculated  at 
all,  did  not  come  to  me.  One  of  these,  a  friend  of  mine,  told  me  that  he  had 
obtained  nn  eighth  of  a  20,000/.,  and  I  heard  of  another  who  was  said  to  have 
ha'l  a  sixteenth  of  a  10,0001.  prize.  On  thin  part  of  the  suhjcrt,  from  an  article  in 
my  newspaper  of  March  25,  1817,  in  which  1  questioned  some  statviiients  made 
by  high  authorities  in  the  House  of  Common*,  I  may  quote  n  mrnioranditm,  that, 
in  three  lotteries  drawn  in  1603,  I  "«old,  Whole  Tickets — not  one;  Halves— one; 
Quarters — ticenty;  Eighths — eighty-cifht ;  Sixteenths— five  hundred  and  siity- 
tii!  and  in  previous  years  far  greater  numbers  of  the  latter;  many,  very  many 
of  which  were  bought  by  poor  people." 

Familiarity  with  some  kinds  of  sin  uV.iriVnn  the  consciousness  of  it.  This  was 
not  the  case  with  me  in  reference  to  the  State  Lottery.  It  was  familiarity  with 
it  which  convinced  me  of  the  sin  of  dealing  in  it*  deceptive  wares.  I  wax  occa- 
sionally ciirprisi-d  to  notice  the  different  kind*  of  money  which  were  brought  to 
me  by  persons  of  the  humbler  clans, — hoarded  guineas,  old  crowns,  Inlfcrownn, 
•nd  fine  lnij>n-*-ii>;  »  of  smaller  silver  coins,  at  a  time  when  bunk-piper,  Spanish 
dollars,  and  tokens  of  inferior  standard,  issued  by  private  iinliviilu.il-  nnd  com- 
panies, formed  a  kind  of  mop-currency  throughout  tin-  reiilm,  in«trnd  of  the-  ster- 
ling issues  of  the  Royal  Mint.  These,  like  the  guinea  of  my  Derbyshire  matron, 
wi-rf  ventured  "for  the  sake  of  luck,"  In  never:.!  im-tancr*  by  poor  women  who 
tad  Inherited  them  from  their  parent*,  received  thr-m  HH  birth  or  wrdding-nny 
cift*.  saved  thorn  for  their  children'*  thrifl-pois,  or  I., id  them  up  against  n  rainy 
day  for  family  wants  or  sickness.  With  these  they  ctnio  to  buy  kufe,  and  I  sold 


L_ 


If  THOUGHTS    OX    WHEELS. 

them  disappointment ! — It  was  this  very  thought  passing  through  my  mind  like  a 
flash  of  lightning,  in  the  very  words,  and  leaving  an  indelible  impression,  (deep- 
ening with  every  recurrence  of  the  haunting  idea,)  which  decided  a  long-medi- 
tated but  often  procrastinated  purpose;  and  I  said  to  myself,  at  length,  "I  will 
immediately  give  up  this  traffic  of  delusion."  I  did  so,  and  from  that  moment 
never  sold  another  share. 

This,  however,  was  only  cutting  off  the  left  hand  of  a  profitable  sin,  while 
with  the  right  I  was  still  accepting  the  hire  of  iniquity.  The  proprietors  of 
newspapers  do  not  deem  themselves  responsible  for  the  contents  of  advertise- 
ments which  appear  on  their  pages,  so  long  as  these  are  free  from  libellous,  im- 
moral, or  blasphemous  matter.  During  the  palmy  days  of  tile  State  Lottery,  and 
even  when  it  began  to  fall  into  disrepute,  the  office  keepers  were  among  the 
most  liberal  contributors  of  such  precious  articles  to  the  public  journals.  The 
columns  of  mine  were  never  much  burdened  with  these  opima  epolia, — wealth 
won  without  labour  of  the  hands  or  the  brains,  gratuitously  bestowed,  collected 
at  little  risk,  and  small  additional  expense  in  the  economy  of  the  printing-office. 
Lottery  advertisements,  therefore,  formed  a  considerable  proportion  of  the  very 
moderate  amount  of  pecuniary  means,  by  which  I  was  enabled,  under  many  dis- 
advantages, some  local,  and  others  personal,  to  maintain  my  paper  at  all.  But 
when  my  friend  Mr.  Roberts  and  I,  several  years  after  my  relinquishment  of 
lottery  sales,  determined  to  attack  the  great  state  evil  itself,  with  open,  uncom- 
promising hostility,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  consistently,  nor  indeed  honestly,  sup- 
port him  in  his  plans  of  aggression,  while  I  was  an  actual  accessory  before  the 
fact  to  the  mischiefs  which  it  was  perpetrating  throughout  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  land,  and  especially,  so  far  as  I  was  implicated,  within  the  range  of  my 
editorial  influence.  The  question  had  long  troubled  rue  in  secret;  but,  as  in  the 
former  case,  a  final  decision  upon  it  was  deferred,  till  my  friend  one  day  unex- 
pectedly attacked  me  with  a  recommendation  to  renounce  all  connection  with 
''the  accursed  thing,"  which  we  both  had  now  made  up  our  minds  to  hold  up  to 
public  abhorrence  and  reprobation.  The  counsel  was  hard  to  a  person  in  my 
circumstances :  conscience  and  cupidity  had  a  sharp  conflict ;  but  the  battle  was 
not  a  drawn  one  ;  the  better  principle  prevailed;  and  after  the  autumn  of  1816 
I  never  admitted  another  lottery  advertisement  into  my  paper.  Nor  did  I  ever, 
for  one  moment,  repent  the  sacrifice. 

From  that  time  till  the  abandonment  of  the  State  Lottery  by  government 
itself  in  1821,  Mr.  Roberts  and  I,  in  various  ways,  but  principally  by  paragraphs 
and  philippics  in  my  columns,  and  pamphlets  from  my  press,  waged  a  desultory 
warfare  with  those  ministers  of  the  day  and  their  supporters  in  1'arliament  who 
persisted  in  employing  these  unhallowed  means  of  recruiting  the  revenue.  With 
the  late  Lord  Lyttelton  (then  Mr.  Lyttelton)  and  other  members  of  the  House  of 
Commons  who  held  the  same  sentiments  as  ourselves  on  the  subject,  we  had 
frequent  correspondence;  nor  did  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  (otherwise 
one  of  the  most  upriglit  and  conscientious  statesmen  of  the  age)  escape  the  an- 
noyance of  our  remonstrances  and  solicitations.  In  March,  1817,  we  promoted 
a  petition  to  Parliament  from  Sheffield  against  this  national  nuisance.  Whether 
this  example  was  followed  at  that  time  by  any  other  towns  I  do  not  remember. 
.  We  know,  however,  that  our  various  labours  were  not  altogether  in  vain, — but 
that  two  obscure  individuals  in  a  remote  part  of  the  kingdom,  by  strenuous  per- 
severance in  advocating  a  good  cause,  contributed  something  (however  little  it 
may  have  been)  towards  the  removal  of  the  greatest  plugue  that  ever  infested 
the  country  in  the  shape  of  a  tax,  upon  the  poverty,  the  morals,  and  the  happi- 
ness of  the  people. 

In  1817,  Mr.  Roberts  published  The  Slate  Lottery,  a  Dream,  a  work  of  startling 
eccentricity  in  its  plan,  and  no  small  ingenuity  in  the  execution.  Its  frontis- 
piece, representing  A  Petty  State  Lottery  within  the  walls  of  Christ's  Hospital, 
in  which  noi  :he  drawers  only,  but  all  the  adventurers,  were  children  of  that 
venei able  establishment,  was  not  without  its  effect  in  abating  one  of  the  most 


THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS.  13 


plausible  but  pernicious  exhibitions  at  Guildhall  and  elsewhere,  in  the  annual 
pantomime  of  The  Grand  State  Lottery. 

My  THOUGHTS  ON  WHEELS  were  but  the  glimmering  tail  of  my  friend's  por- 
tentous comet  The  latter,  having  long  ago  passed  its  perihelion,  is  no  more 
visible  in  the  literary  hemisphere;  and  the  former  would  have  disappeared  with 
it,  had  not  the  last  section,  the  address  To  Britain,  been  deemed  worthy  of  pre- 
servation by  judges  more  competent  to  decide  upon  its  claims  than  the  public 
will  allow  an  author  to  be  in  his  own  case. 

October  20,  1840. 


NO.    I. THE    COMBAT. 


OF  old  when  fiery  warriors  met, 
On  edge  of  steel  their  lives  were  set; 
Eye  watching  eye,  shield  crossing  shield, 
Foot  wedged  to  foot,  they  fought  the  field, 
Dealt  and  withstood  as  many  strokes 
As  migh^  have  fell'd  two  forest-oaks, 
Till  one,  between  the  harness-joint, 
Felt  the  resistless  weapon's  point 
Quick  through  his  heart, — and  in  a  flood 
Pour'd  his  hot  spirit  with  his  blood. 

The  victor,  rising  from  the  blow 
That  laid  his  brave  assailant  low, 
Then  blush'd  not  from  his  height  to  bend, 
Foully  a  gallant  deed  to  end  ; 
But  whirl'd  in  fetters  round  the  plain, 
Whirl'd  at  his  chariot  wheels,  the  slain ; 
Beneath  the  silent  curse  of  eyes, 
That  look'd  for  vengeance  to  the  skies ; 
While  shame,  that  could  not  reach  the  dead, 
Pour'd  its  whole  vial  on  his  head. 

Who  falls  in  honourable  strife 
Surrenders  nothing  but  his  life  ; 
Who  basely  triumphs  casts  away 
The  glory  of  the  well-won  day ; 
— Rather  lhan  feel  the  joy  he  feels, 
Commend  me  to  his  chariot  wheels. 


14  THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS. 


NO.    II. THE    CAR    OF    JUGGERNAUT. 

ON  plains  beneath  the  morning  star, 
Lo  !  Juggernaut's  stupendous  car  ; 
So  high  and  menacing  its  size, 
The  Tower  of  Babel  seems  to  rise  , 
Darkening  the  air,  its  shadow  spreads 
O'er  thrice  an  hundred  thousand  heads ; 
Darkening  the  soul,  it  strikes  a  gloom, 
Dense  as  the  night  beyond  the  tomb. 
Full  in  mid-heaven,  when  mortal  eye 
Up  this  huge  fabric  climbs  the  sky, 
The  Idol  scowls,  in  dragon-pride, 
Like  Satan's  conscience  deified  ; 
• — Satan  himself  would  scorn  to  ape 
Divinity  in  such  a  shape. 

Breaking  the  billows  of  the  crowd, 
As  countless,  turbulent,  and  loud 
As  surges  on  the  windward  shore, 
That  madly  foam,  and  idly  roar ; 
Th'  unwieldy  wain  compels  its  course, 
Crushing  resistance  down  b'y  force  ; 
It  creaks,  and  groans,  and  grinds  along, 
Midst  shrieks  and  prayers, — midst  dance  and  song ; 
With  orgies  in  the  eye  of  noon, 
Such  as  would  turn  to  blood  the  moon ; 
Impieties  so  bold,  so  black, 
The  stars  to  shun  them  would  reel  back  ; 
And  secret  horrors,  which  the  Sun 
Would  put  on  sackcloth  to  see  done. 
Thrice  happy  they,  whose  headlong  souls, 
Where'er  th'  enormous  ruin  rolls, 
Cast  their  frail  bodies  on  the  stones, 
Pave  its  red  track  with  crashing  bones. 
And  pant  and  struggle  for  the  fate 
—To  die  beneath  the  sacred  weight. 

"  O  fools  and  mad  !"  your  Christians  cry  . 
Yet  wise,  methinks,  are  those  who  die : 


THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS.  15 

For  me, — if  Juggernaut  were  God, 
Rather  than  writhe  beneath  his  rod  : 
Rather  than  live  his  devotee, 
And  bow  to  such  a  brute  the  knee  ; 
Rather  than  be  his  favourite  priest, 
Wallow  in  wantonness,  and  feast 
On  tears  and  blood,  on  groans  and  cries, 
The  fume  and  fat  of  sacrifice  ', 
Rather  than  share  his  love, — or  wrath : 
I'd  fling  my  carcass  in  his  path, 
And  almost  bless  his  name,  to  feel 
The  murdering  mercy  of  his  wheel. 


NO.  III. THE    INQUISITION. 

THERE  was  in  Christendom,  of  yore, 

— And  would  to  heaven  it  were  no  more  ! — 

There  was  an  Inquisition-Court, 

Where  priestcraft  made  the  demons  sport : 

— Priestcraft, — in  form  a  giant  monk, 

With  wine  of  Rome's  pollutions  drunk, 

Like  captive  Samson,  bound  and  blind, 

In  chains  and  darkness  of  the  mind, 

There  show'd  such  feats  of  strength  and  skill 

As  made  it  charity  to  kill, 

And  well  the  blow  of  death  might  pass 

For  what  he  call'd  it — coup  (le  grace; 

While  in  his  little  hell  on  earth, 

The  foul  fiends  quaked  amidst  their  mirth  :— 

But  not  like  him,  who  to  the  skies 

Turn'd  the  dark  embers  of  his  eyes, 

(Where  lately  burn'd  a  fire  divine, 

Where  still  it  burn'd,  but  could  not  shine,) 

And  won  by  vio  ence  of  prayer, 

(Hope's  dying  accents  in  despair,) 


16  THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS. 


Power  to  demolish,  from  its  base, 

Damon's  proud  fane,  on  Dagon's  race ; 

Not  thus  like  Samson  ; — false  of  heart, 

The  tonsured  juggler  play'd  his  part, 

God's  law  in  God's  own  name  made  void, 

Men  for  their  Saviour's  sake  destroy'd, 

Made  pure  religion  his  pretence 

To  rid  the  earth  of  innocence  ; 

While  Spirits  from  th'  infernal  flood 

Cool'cl  their  parch'd  tongues  in  martyrs'  blood, 

And  half  forgot  their  stings  and  flames 

In  conning,  at  those  hideous  games, 

Lessons, — which  he  who  taught  should  know 

How  well  they  had  been  learn'd  below. 

Among  the  engines  of  his  power 
Most  dreaded  in  the  trying  hour, 
When  impotent  were  fire  and  steel, 
All  but  almighty  was  the  Wheel, 
Whose  harrowing  revolution  wrung 
Confession  from  the  slowest  tongue  ; 
From  joints  unlock'd  made  secrets  start, 
Twined  with  the  cordage  of  the  heart ; 
From  muscles  in  convulsion  drew 
Knowledge  the  sufferer  never  knew  ; 
From  failing  flesh,  in  Nature's  spite, 
Brought  deeds  that  ne'er  were  done  to  light ; 
From  snapping  sinews  wrench'd  the  lie, 
That  gain'd  the  victim  leave  to  die  ; 
When  self-accused, — condemn'd  at  length, 
His  only  crime  was  want  of  strength ; 
From  holy  hands  with  joy  he  turn'd, 
And  kiss'd  the  stake  at  which  he  burn'd. 
But  from  the  man  of  soul  sublime, 
Who  lived  above  the  world  of  time, 
Fervent  in  faith,  in  conscience  clear, 
Who  knew  to  love, — but  not  to  fear  ; 
When  every  artifice  of  pain 
Was  wasted  on  his  limbs  in  vain, 


THOUGHTS   ON   WHEELS.  IT 

And  baffled  cruelty  could  find 
No  hidden  passage  to  his  mind, 
The  Wheel  extorted  naught  in  death, 
Except — forgiveness,  and  his  breath. 

Such  a  victorious  death  to  die 
Were  prompt  translation  to  the  sky : 
— Yet  with  the  weakest,  I  would  meet 
Racks,  scourges,  flames,  and  count  them  sweet ; 
Nay,  might  I  choose,  I  would  not  'scape 
"  The  question,"  put  in  any  shape. 
Rather  than  sit  in  judgment  there, 
Where  the  stern  bigot  fills  the  chair : 
— Rather  than  turn  his  torturing  Wheel, 
Give  me  its  utmost  stretch  to  feel. 


NO.  IV. THE    STATE   LOTTERY. 

ESCAPED  from  ancient  battle-field, 

Though  neither  with  nor  on  my  shield : 

Escaped — how  terrible  the  thought 

Even  of  escape  ! — from  Juggernaut ; 

Escaped  from  tenfold  worse  perdition 

In  dungeons  of  the  Inquisition  ; 

Oh  with  what  ecstasy  I  stand 

Once  more  on  Albion's  refuge-land  ! 

Oh  with  what  gratitude  I  bare 

My  bosom  to  that  island-air, 

Which  tyrants  gulp  and  cease  to  be, 

Which  slaves  inhale  and  slaves  are  free ! 

For  though  the  wheels,  behind  my  back, 

Still  seem  to  rumble  in  my  track, 

Their  sound  is  music  on  the  breeze  ; 

I  dare  them  all  to  cross  the  seas : 

— Nay,  should  they  reach  our  guarded  coast. 

Like  Pharaoh's  chariots  and  his  host, 


THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS. 


Monks,  Brahmins,  warriors,  swoln  and  dead. 
Axles  and  orbs  in  wrecks  were  spread. 

And  are  there  on  this  holy  ground 
No  wheels  to  trail  the  vanquish'd  found  ? 
None,  framed  the  living  bones  to  break, 
Or  rend  the  nerves  for  conscience-sake  ? 
No : — Britons  scorn  th'  unhallow'd  touch, 
They  will  not  use,  nor  suffer  such ; 
Alike  they  shun,  with  fearless  heart, 
The  victim's  and  tormentor's  part. 

Yet  here  are  wheels  of  feller  kind, 
To  drag  in  chains  the  captive  mind  ; 
To  crush,  beneath  their  horrid  load, 
Hearts  panting  prostrate  on  the  road  ; 
To  wind  desire  from  spoke  to  spoke, 
And  break  the  spirit  stroke  by  stroke. 

Where  Gog  and  Magog,  London's  pride, 
O'er  city  bankruptcies  preside  ; 
Stone-blind  at  nisi  prius  sit, 
Hearken  stone-deaf  to  lawyers'  wit ; 
Or  scowl  on  men,  that  play  the  beasts 
At  Common  Halls  and  Lord  Mayors'  feasts, 
When  venison  or  the  public  cause, 
Taxes  or  turtle,  stretch  their  jaws  : 
TTiere, — in  a  whisper  be  it  said, 
Lest  honest  Beckford  shake  his  head ; 
Lest  Chatham,  with  indignant  cheek, 
Start  from  his  pedestal  and  speak ; 
Lest  Chatham's  son  in  marble  groan, 
As  if  restored  to  skin  and  bone  ;* 
TVtere, — speak, — speak  out, — abandon  fear ; 
Let  both  the  dead  and  living  hear  ; 
—The  dead,  that  they  may  blush  for  shame 
Amidst  their  monumental  fame  ; 
—The  living,  that,  forewarn'd  of  fate, 
Conscience  may  force  them,  ere  too  late, 

*  These  lines  refer  to  the  statues  of  British  worthies  which  adorn  the  Guilu 
flail  of  London. 


THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS.  1» 

Those  Wheels  of  infamy  to  shun, 
Which  thousands  touch,  and  are  undone. 

There., — built  by  legislative  hands, 
On  Christian  ground,  an  altar  stands. 
— "  Stands  ?  gentle  Poet,  tell  me  where  ?" 
Go  to  Guildhall : — "  It  stands  not  there!" 
True  ; — 'tis  my  brain  that  raves  and  reels 
Whene'er  it  turns  on  Lottery  Wheels ; 
Such  things  in  youth  can  I  recall 
Nor  think  of  thee, — of  thee,  Guildhall  ? 
Where  erst  1  play'd  with  glittering  schemes, 
And  lay  enlianced  in  golden  dreams; 
Bright  round  my  head  those  bubbles  broke, 
Poorer  from  every  dream  I  woke, ; 
Wealth  came, — but  not  the  wealth  I  sought . 
Wisdom  was  wealth  to  me  ;  and  taught 
My  feel  to  miss  thy  gates, — that  lay, 
Like  toll-bars  on  the  old  "  broad  way," 
Where  pilgrims  paid, — oh  grief  to  tell ! 
Tribute  for  going  down  to  hell. 

Long  on  thy  floor  an  altar  stood, 
To  human  view  unstain'd  with  blood, 
But  red  and  foul  in  Heaven's  pure  eyes, 
Groaning  with  infant  sacrifice, 
From  year  to  year ; — till  sense  or  shame, 
Or  some  strange  cause  without  a  name, 
— 'Twas  not  the  cry  of  innocence, — 
Drove  such  abomination  thence  : 
Thence  drove  it, — but  destroy'd  it  not ; 
It  blackens  some  obscurer  spot ; 
Obscurer, — yet  so  well  defined, 
Thither  the  blind  might  lead  the  blind, 
While  heralds  shout  in  every  ear, 
'« This  is  the  temple, — worship  here." 
Thither  the  deaf  may  read  their  way  ; 
'Tis  plain  ; — \Qfmd  it,  go  astray  ! 
Thither  the  lame,  on  wings  of  paper, 
Ma]  come  to  nothing,  like  a  vapour ; 


THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS. 


Thither  may  all  the  world  repair ; 
A  word,  a  wish,  will  waft  you  there ; 
And,  O  so  smooth  and  steep  the  track, 
'Tis  Avorth  your  life  to  venture  back  ; 
Easy  the  step  to  Cooper's  Hall,* 
As  headlong  from  a  cliff  to  fall ; 
Hard  to  recover  from  the  shock, 
As  broken-limb'd  to  climb  a  rock. 

There,  built  by  legislative  hands, 
Our  country's  shame,  an  altar  stands ; 
Not  votive  brass,  nor  hallow'd  stone, 
Humbly  inscribed — "  To  God  unknown  ;" 
Though  sure,  if  earth  afford  a  space 
For  such  an  altar,  here's  the  place : 
— Not  breathing  incense  in  a  shrine, 
Where  human  art  appears  divine, 
And  man  by  his  own  skill  hath  wrought 
So  bright  an  image  of  his  thought, 
That  nations,  barbarous  or  refined, 
Might  worship  there  th'  immortal  mind, 
That  gave  their  ravish'd  eyes  to  see 
A  meteor  glimpse  of  Deity  ; 
A  ray  of  Nature's  purest  light, 
Shot  through  the  gulf  of  Pagan  night, 
Dazzling, — but  leaving  darkness  more 
Profoundly  blinding  than  before. 
— Ah  !  no  such  power  of  genius  calls 
Sublime  devotion  to  these  walls  ; 
No  pomp  of  art,  surpassing  praise, 
Britannia's  altar  here  displays  : 
A  MONEY-CHANGER'S  TABLE, — spread 
With  hieroglyphics,  black  and  red. 
Exhibits,  on  deceitful  scrolls, 
"  The  price  of  Tickets," — and  of  Souls ; 
For  thus  are  Souls  to  market  brought, 
Barter'd  for  vanity, — for  naught ; 

*  Where  the  State  Lottery  was  drawn  for  many  years. 


THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS. 


Till  the  poor  venders  find  the  cost, 
— Time  to  eternal  ages  lost ! 

No  sculptured  idol  decks  the  place, 
Of  such  excelling  form  and  face, 
That  Grecian  pride  might  feign  its  birth 
A  statue  fallen  from  heaven  to  earth : 
The  goddess  here  is  best  design'd, 
— A  flimsy  harlot,  bold  and  blind ; 
Invisible  to  standers-by, 
And  yet  in  everybody's  eye  ! 
FORTUNE  her  name  ; — a  gay  deceiver, 
Cheat  as  she  may,  jhe  crowd  believe  her; 
And  she,  abuse  her  as  they  will, 
Showers  on  the  crowd  her  favours  still : 
For  'tis  the  bliss  of  both  to  be 
Themselves  unseen,  and  not  to  see  ; 
Had  she  discernment, — pride  would  scout 
The  homage  of  her  motley  rout ; 
Were  she  reveal'd, — the  poorest  slave 
Would  blush  to  be  her  luckiest  knave. 

Not  good  OLD  FORTUNE  here  we  scorn, 
In  classic  fable  heavenly  born  : 
She  who  for  nothing  deigns  to  deal 
Her  blanks  and  prizes  from  One  Wheel ; 
And  who,  like  Justice,  wisely  blind, 
Scatters  her  bounties  on  mankind 
With  such  a  broad  impartial  aim, 
If  none  will  praise  her,  none  should  blame ; 
For  were  ten  thousand  fancies  tried, 
Wealth  more  discreetly  to  divide 
Among  the  craving  race  of  man, 
Wit  could  not  frame  a  happier  plan. 

Here,  'tis  her  Counterfeit,  who  reigns 
O'er  haunted  heads  and  moon-struck  brains ; 
A  Two-wheel'd  Jade,  admired  by  sots, 
Who  flings,  for  cash  in  hand,  her  lots 
To  those,  who,  fain  "  their  luck  to  try," 
Sell  Hope,  and  Disappointment  buy. 


THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS. 


The  wily  sorceress  here  reveals, 

With  proud  parade,  her  mystic  Wheels  ; 

— Those  Wheels,  on  which  the  nation  runs 

Over  the  morals  of  its  Sons ; 

— Those  Wheels,  at  which  the  nation  draws 

Through  shouting  streets  its  broken  laws  ! 

Engines  of  plotting  Fortune's  skill 

To  lure,  entangle,  torture,  kill. 

Behold  her,  in  imperial  pride, 

King,  Lords,  and  Commons  at  her  side  ; 

Arm'd  with  authority  of  state, 

The  public  peace  to  violate : 

More  might  be  told, — but  not  by  me 

Must  this  "eternal  blazon"  be. 

Between  her  Wheels  the  Phantom  stands, 

With  Syren  voice,  and  Harpy  hands : 

She  turns  th'  enchanted  axle  round ; 

Forth  leaps  the  "  TWENTV  THOUSAND  POUND  P* 

That  "twenty  thousand"  one  has  got; 

But  twenty  thousand  more  have  not. 

These  curse  her  to  her  face,  deplore 

Their  loss,  then — take  her  word  once  more ; 

Once  more  deceived,  they  rise  like  men 

Bravely  resolved — to  try  again ; 

Again  they  fail ; — again  trapann'd, 

She  mocks  them  with  her  sleight  of  hand ; 

Still  fired  with  rage,  with  avarice  steel'd, 

Perish  they  may,  but  never  yield  ; 

They  woo  her  till  their  latest  breath, 

Then  snatch  their  prize — a  blank  in  death. 

The  priests,  that  in  her  temple  wait, 
Her  minor  ministers  of  fate, 
Like  Dian's  silversmith's  of  old, 
True  to  the  craft  that  brings  them  gold, 
Lungs,  limbs,  and  pens  unwearied  plv 
To  puff"  their  Goddess  to  the  sky ; 
Oh  that  their  puffs  could  fix  Her  there, 
Who  builds  such  castles  in  the  air, 


THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS. 


And  in  the  malice  of  her  mirth 

Lets  them  to  simpletons  on  earth  ! 

— Who  steals  the  rainbow's  peaceful  form, 

But  is  the  demon  of  the  storm  ; 

— Assumes  a  star's  benignant  mien, 

But  wears  a  comet's  tail  unseen ; 

— Who  smiles  a  Juno  to  the  crowd, 

But  all  that  win  her  catch  a  cloud, 

And,  doom'd  Ixion's  fate  to  feel, 

Are  whirl'd  upon  a  giddier  wheel. 

—Oh  that  her  priests  could  fix  her  there, 

Whose  breath  and  being  are  but  air ! 

Yet  not  for  this  their  spells  they  try, 

They  bawl  to  keep  her  from  the  sky, 

A  harmless  meteor  in  that  sphere  ; 

A  baleful  Ignis  fatuits  here, 

With  wandering  and  bewildering  light, 

To  cheer,  and  then  confound  the  sight, 

Guide  the  lone  traveller, — then  betray, 
Where  Death  in  ambush  lurks  for  prey. 

Fierce,  but  familiar,  at  their  call, 
The  veriest  fiend  of  Satan's  fall ; 
— The  fiend  that  tempted  him  to  stake 
Heaven's  bliss  against  the  burning  lake ; 
— The  fiend  that  tempted  him  again, 
To  burst  the  darkness  of  his  den, 
And  risk  whate'er  of  wrath  untried 
Eternal  justice  yet  could  hide, 
For  one  transcendent  chance,  by  sin, 
Man  and  his  new-made  world  to  win  ; 
— That  fiend,  while  Satan  play'd  his  part 
At  Eve's  fond  ear,  assail'd  her  heart, 
And  tempted  her  to  hazard  more 
Than  fallen  Angels  lost  before  ; 
They  ruin'd  but  themselves — her  crime 
Brought  death  on  all  the  race  of  tinv : 
— That  fiend  comes  forth,  like  ^Etna's  flame  ; 
The  SPIRIT  OF  OAMBLINO  call  his  name ; 


THOUGHTS   ON    WHEELS. 


So  flush'd  and  terrible  in  power, 

The  Priests  themselves  he  would  devour ; 

But  straight,  by  Act  of  Parliament, 

Loose  through  the  land  his  plagues  are  sent. 

The  Polypus  himself  divides, 

A  legion  issues  from  his  sides ; 

Ten  thousand  shapes  he  wears  at  will, 

In  every  shape  a  devil  still ; 

Eager  and  restless  .to  be  known 

By  any  mark,  except  his  own ; 

In  airy,  earthly,  heavenly  guise, 

No  matter* — if  it  strike  the  eyes ; 

Yet  ever  at  the  clink  of  pelf, 

He  starts,  and  shrinks  into  himself: 

— A  traitor  now,  with  face  of  truth, 

He  dupes  the  innocence  of  youth  ; 

A  shrewd  pretender,  smooth  and  sage, 

He  tempts  the  avarice  of  age  ; 

A  wizard,  versed  in  damned  arts, 

He  trammels  uncorrupted  hearts ; 

He  lulls  Suspicion,  Sense  waylays, 

Honour  and  Honesty  betrays, 

Finds  Virtue  sleeping,  and  by  stealth 

Beguiles  her  with  a  dream  of  wealth  ; 

Till  rich  and  poor,  till  fools  and  wise, 

Haste  to  the  headlong  sacrifice, 

Gaze  till  they  slip  into  the  snare ; 

— Angels  might  weep  to  see  them  there; 

Then  to  the  Lottery  Wheels  away, 

The  SPIRIT  OF  GAMBLING  drags  his  prey. 

Hail  to  the  fiery  bigot's  rack  ! 
Hail  Juggernaut's  destructive  track ! 
Hail  to  the  warrior's  iron  car ! 
But  oh,  be  Lottery  Wheels  afar ! 
I'll  die  by  torture,  war,  disease, 
I'll  die — by  any  Wheels  but  these  * 


THOUGHTS   ON    WHEELS. 


NO.    V. TO    BRITAIN. 

I  LOVE  Thee,  O  my  native  Isle ! 
Dear  as  my  mother's  earliest  smile ; 
Sweet  as  my  father's  voice  to  me 
Is  all  I  hear,  and  all  I  see, 
When,  glancing  o'er  thy  beauteous  land, 
In  view  thy  Public  Virtues  stand, 
The  Guardian-angels  of  thy  coast, 
Who  watch  the  dear  domestic  Host, 
The  Heart's  Affections,  pleased  to  roam 
Around  the  quiet  heaven  of  Home. 

I  love  Thee, — when  I  mark  thy  soil 
Flourish  beneath  the  peasant's  toil, 
And  from  its  lap  of  verdure  throw 
Treasures  which  neither  Indies  know. 

I  love  Thee, — when  I  hear  around 
Thy  looms,  and  wheels,  and  anvils  sound, 
Thine  engines  heaving  all  their  force, 
Thy  waters  labouring  on  their  course, 
And  arts,  and  industry,  and  wealth 
Exulting  in  the  joys  of  health. 

I  love  Thee, — when  I  trace  thy  tale 
To  the  dim  point  where  records  fail; 
Thy  deeds  of  old  renown  inspire 
My  bosom  with  our  fathers'  fire  ; 
A  proud  inheritance  I  claim 
In  all  their  sufferings,  all  their  fame ; 
Nor  less  delighted,  when  I  stray 
Down  History's  lengthening,  widening  way, 
And  hail  Thee  in  thy  present  hour, 
From  the  meridian  arch  of  power, 
Shedding  the  lustre  of  thy  reign, 
Like  sunshine,  over  land  and  main. 

I  love  Thee, — when  I  read  the  lays 
Of  British  bards,  in  elder  days, 
Till,  rapt  on  visionary  wings, 
High  o'er  thy  clifls  my  spirit  sings ; 


THOUGHTS    ON   WHEELS. 


For  I,  amidst  thy  living  choir, 
I,  too,  can  touch  the  sacred  lyre. 

I  love  Thee, — when  I  contemplate 
The  full-orb'd  grandeur  of  thy  state ; 
Thy  laws  and  liberties,  that  rise, 
Man's  noblest  works  beneath  the  skies, 
To  which  the  Pyramids  are  tame, 
And  Grecian  temples  bow  their  fame : 
These,  thine  immortal  sages  wrought 
Out  of  the  deepest  mines  of  thought ; 
These,  on  the  scaffold,  in  the  field, 
Thy  warriors  won,  thy  patriots  seal'd ; 
These,  at  the  parricidal  pyre, 
Thy  martyrs  sanctified  in  fire, 
And,  with  the  generous  blood  they  spilt, 
Wash'd  from  thy  soil  their  murderers'  guilt, 
CancelPd  the  curse  which  Vengeance  sped, 
And  left  a  blessing  in  its  stead. 
Can  words,  can  numbers  count  the  price, 
Paid  for  this  little  Paradise  ? 
Never,  oh  !  never  be  it  lost ; 
The  land  is  worth  the  price  it  cost. 

I  love  Thee, — when  thy  Sabbath  dawns 
O'er  woods  and  mountains,  dales  and  lawns, 
And  streams,  that  sparkle  while  they  run, 
As  if  their  fountain  were  the  Sun  : 
When,  hand  in  hand  thy  tribes  repair, 
Each  to  their  chosen  house  of  prayer, 
And  all  in  peace  and  freedom  call 
On  Him  who  is  the  Lord  of  all. 

I  love  Thee, — when  my  soul  can  feel 
The  seraph-ardours  of  thy  zeal : 
Thy  charities,  to  none  confined, 
Bless,  like  the  sun,  the  rain,  the  wind ; 
Thy  schools  the  human  brute  shall  raise, 
Guide  erring  youth  in  wisdom's  ways, 
And  leave,  when  we  are  turn'd  to  dust, 
A  generation  of  the  just. 


THOUGHTS   ON   WHEELS.  27 

I  love  Thee, — when  I  see  thee  stand 
The  hope  of  every  other  land ; 
A  sea-mark  in  the  tide  of  time, 
Rearing  to  heaven  thy  brow  sublime ; 
Whence  beams  of  Gospel-splendour  shed 
A  sacred  halo  round  thine  head ; 
And  Gentiles  from  afar  behold 
(Not  as  on  Sinai's  rocks  of  old) 
GOD, — from  eternity  conceal'd, — 
In  his  own  light,  on  Thee  reveal'd. 

I  love  Thee, — when  I  hear  thy  voice 
Bid  a  despairing  world  rejoice, 
And  loud  from  shore  to  shore  proclaim, 
In  every  tongue,  Messiah's  name  ; 
That  name,  at  which,  from  sea  to  sea, 
All  nations  yet  shall  bow  the  knee. 

I  love  Thee  : — next  to  heaven  above, 
Land  of  my  fathers  !  thee  I  love ; 
And,  rail  thy  slanderers  as  they  will, 
"  With  all  thy  faults  I  love  Thee"  still : 
For  faults  thou  hast,  of  heinous  size ; 
Repent,  renounce  them,  ere  they  rise 
In  judgment ; — lest  thine  ocean-wall 
With  boundless  ruin  round  thee  fall, 
And  that,  which  was  thy  mightiest  stay, 
Sweep  all  thy  rocks  like  sand  away. 

Yes,  thou  hast  faults  of  heinous  size, 
From  which  I  turn  with  weeping  eyes ; 
On  these  let  them  that  hate  Thee  dwell : 
Yet  one  I  spare  not, — one  I  tell, 
Tell  with  a  whisper  in  thine  ear ; 
Oh !  might  it  wring  thy  heart  with  fear ! 
Oh !  that  my  weakest  word  might  roll, 
Like  heaven's  own  thunder,  through  thy  soul  I 

There  is  a  lie  in  thy  right  hand ; 
A  bribe,  corrupting  all  the  land ; 
There  is  within  thy  gates  a  pest, 
— Gold  and  a  Babylonish  vest  i 


THOUGHTS    ON    WHEELS. 


Not  hid  in  shame-concealing  shade, 

But  broad  against  the  sun  display'd. 

These, — tell  it  not , — it  must  be  told ; 

These  from  thy  LOTTERY  WHEELS  are  sold; 

gold, — and  thy  children,  train'd  to  sin, 

Hazard  both  worlds  these  plagues  to  win ; 

Nay,  thy  deluded  statesmen  stake 

Thyself, — and  lose  Thee  for  their  sake  ! 

—Lose  Thee  ? — They  shall  not ; — HE,  whose  will 

Is  Nature's  law,  preserves  Thee  still ; 

And  while  th'  uplifted  bolt  impends, 

One  warning  more  his  mercy  sends. 

O  BRITAIN  !  O  my  country !  bring 
Forth  from  thy  camp  th'  accursed  thing ; 
Consign  it  to  remorseless  fire ; 
Watch  till  the  latest  spark  expire, 
Then  cast  the  ashes  on  the  wind. 
Nor  leave  one  atom-wreck  behind. 

So  may  thy  wealth  and  power  increase  ; 
So  may  thy  people  dwell  in  peace  ; 
On  Thee  th'  Almighty's  glory  rest, 
And  all  the  world  in  Thee  be  blest. 

SkeJUld,  Oct.  10,  1816. 


THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 


IN  the  summer  of  1S07,  a  local  association  for  the  purpose  of  "superseding  tbt 
employment  of  Climbing  Boys  in  sweeping  chimneys,  and  bettering  the  condi 
tion  of  those  who  were  already  so  engaged,"  was  established  in  Sheffield. 
Through  three-and-thirty  years,  that  object  has  been  kept  in  view,  though  many 
and  long  interruptions  have  crippled  or  retarded  our  active  exertions  towards 
the  desired  accomplishment.  But  our  interest  in  the  subject,  and  our  sympathy 
towards  the  infantine  and  juvenile  victims  of  so  unnatural  a  practice,  have  been 
periodically  quickened,  on  every  return  of  Easter  Monday,  when  a  good  dinner 
has  been  given  by  our  small  Committee  to  all  the  Climbing  Children  of  this  dis- 
trict. The  change, — which  this  attention  to  their  welfare  has  gradually  occa- 
sioned in  the  personal  appearance,  decent  behaviour,  and  improved  intelligence 
(most  of  them  having  been  Sunday  scholars)  of  the  successive  generations  of 
these  poor  creatures,  which  have  passed  before  us  during  that  period, — has  been 
very  creditable  to  their  Masters  and  very  encouraging  to  ourselves  under  the 
disheartening  hinderances  to  our  progress,  in  attempting  otherwise  to  lessen  the 
evils  of  the  occupation  in  our  own  neighbourhood,  and  the  repeated  failures  of 
our  endeavours  to  obtain  legislative  redress  for  the  grievance  itself  throughout 
the  whole  kingdom. 

The  experience  of  ten  years  convinced  us,  that  all  efforts  as  well  as  plans  ma 
terially  and  permanently  to  benefit  this  class  of  boys  must  be  unavailing,  be- 
cause BO  long  as  the  employment  was  authorized  by  the  legislature,  it  would 
never  be  superseded  by  the  introduction  of  mechanical  apparatus:— it  being  the 
interest,  or  rather  the  practice,  of  the  masters,  AS  much  as  possible,  to  disgust 
their  customers,  by  wilfully  negligent,  or  slovenly  mismanagement  of  such  sub- 
stitutes when  required  to  use  them.  This  repugnance  arose  principally  from  a 
desire  to  snare  themselves,  and  lay  upon  their  apprentices  (who  were  often  their 
own  children)  the  labour  and  torture  of  a  villanoiis  trade,  which  cannot  be 
taught  without  cruelty,  learnt  without  suffering,  or  practised  without  peril  to 
life  and  limb,  under  the  most  humane  master,  and  by  the  most  obedient  scholar. 
This  fact  is  the  unanswerable  objection  to  the  whole  system, — it  cannot  be 
mended,  though  its  inevitable  miseries  may  be,  and  tre,  in  numberless  instances, 
frightfully  aggravated. 

Wherefore,  in  March,  1817,  we  roused  our  townspeople  to  set  the  first  exam- 
ple of  moving  the  legislature  against  this  sin  of  the  natic/n.  A  public  meeting 
was  accordingly  held,  and  a  petition  adopted,  earnestly  imploring  the  House  of 
Commons,  to  whom  it  was  primarily  addressed,  to  lake  the  subject  Into  eany 
and  serious  consideration.  This  was  presented  by  Lord  Milton,  (now  Earl  I-'itz- 
william,)  one  of  the  representatives  for  Yorkshire,  with  a  view  merely  of  its 
being  received  and  laid  upon  the  table;  for  no  expectation  was  entertained  of 
any  immediate  steps  being  taken  upon  it  by  those  to  whom  we  appealed. 
Though  temperately  worded,  and  supported  only  by  a  few  frank  and  plain  ex- 
pressions of  hit  own  kind  disposition  towards  the  suffering  children,  the  reading 
of  this  document  produced  so  happy  an  impression  upon  the  minds  of  the  mem- 
bers present,  that  his  Lordship,  availing  himself  of  the  propitious  omen,  Imme- 
diately moved  for  the  appointment  of  n  Committee  to  investigate  the  subject 
•nd  report  on  the  same.  Meanwhile  similar  petitions  coming  In  from  other 
quarters,  and  the  result  of  the  Committee's  inquiries  proving  highly  satisfac- 
tory,— the  Metropolitan  Society,  (instituted  In  1M>3,  for  the  same  benevolent  pur- 
poses as  ours  at  a  later  period,)  using  their  utmost  seal  and  diligence  to  promote 

a*  89 


THE   CLIMBING   BOY'S   SOLILOQUIES. 


the  object,— on  the  25th  of  June  following  a  Bill  was  brought  into  the  House  of 
Commons,  for  prohibiting  the  employment  of  Climbing  Boys  in  sweeping  chim- 
neys, from  as  brief  a  prospective  date  as  should  be  found  practicable  under  exist- 
ing circumstances.  Certain  technical  difficulties,  however,  respecting  the  nature 
of  the  Bill,  and  the  probability  of  Parliament  being  prorogued  before  an  Actcouli 
be  passed,  caused  the  postponement  of  further  proceedings  till  the  next  Session. 

In  the  following  year,  1818,  the  Bill  was  revived,  carried  triumphantly  through 
the  Commons,  sent  up  to  the  Lords,  read,  committed,  counsel  heard,  evidence 
examined,  favourably  reported,  but  withdrawn  before  the  third  reading,  to  give 
to  the  government  surveyors,  and  other  professional  gentlemen,  opportunity  to 
make  certain  experiments  and  estimates,  recommended  by  their  Lordships' 
Committee,  previous  to  their  ultimate  decision  on  the  merits  of  the  cane. 

In  the  third  year,  1819,  the  Bill  was  again  introduced  in  the  House  of  Peers, 
when,  after  some  very  strange  discussion,  it  was  summarily  thrown  out.  Two 
caus*es,  exceedingly  dissimilar,  concurred  to  effect  this  catastrophe:  namely, 
certain  grave  doubts,  expressed  by  high  legal  authority,  whether,  in  making 
laws,  more  tenderness  were  due  to  old  chimneys  or  to  young  children  ; — the  for- 
mer being  inveterately  crooked  and  therefore  incurable,  whereas  (though  this 
was  left  to  be  inferred)  the  latter  (the  children)  might  easily  be  made  crooked, 
by  accommodating  their  pliable  bodies  to  the  pecverse  ways  through  which  they 
followed  their  craft.  The  second  stumbling-block,  on  which  indeed  the  neck 
of  the  Bill  was  broken,  deserves  more  distinct  exposure.  A  noble  Earl,  who  re- 
sisted the  Bill  less  by  argument  than  by  banter,  among  other  illustrations  of  the 
calamities  which  would  befall  the  nation,  if  the  use  of  Climbing  Boys  were 
abolished,  is  reported  to  have  said  :— "I  might  illustrate  the  confined  humanity 
of  the  supporters  of  this  measure,  by  repeating  a  story,  commonly  told  in  Ireland. 
It  was  usual  in  tint  country  to  sweep  chimneys  by  tying  a  string  to  the  leg  of  a 
goose,  and  dragging  the  unfortunate  bird  down  the  chimney.  This  practice  was 
reprobated  by  many  humane  persons,  who  looked  upon  the  goose  as  very  ill 
treated;  but  an  honest  Irishman  having  asked  what  he  should  use  instead  of 
the  goose,  one  of  the  humane  gentlemen  replied,  '  Why  don't  you  get  a  couple  of 
ducks'!' — Such  was  the  humanity  that  dictated  this  measure,  which,  dwelling 
on  the  sufferings  of  the  Climbing  Boys,  forgot  every  care  for  the  safety  of  so- 
ciety, which,  considering  the  few  children  employed  in  sweeping  chimneys, 
threw  out  of  its  protection  the  many  children  who  should  be  exposed  to  the 
hazards  of  fire,  and  to  be  tossed  out  of  the  windows." 

This  pleasant  sally  put  their  Lordships  into  such  good  humour,  that,  to  borrow 
a  couple  of  the  noble  Earl's  phrases,  the  Bill  was  either  "  tossed  out  of  the  win- 
dow," or  "  exposed  to  the  hazard  of  fire,"  for  aught  that  I  could  ever  learn  of  its 
fate. 

The  report  of  the  foregoing  debate  and  decision  in  the  House  of  Peers  was 
published  in  my  newspaper  of  March  23,  1819.  Under  the  date  of  April  the  13th 
following,  I  find  this  paragraph,  written  by  myself,  and  for  the  authenticity  of 
which  I  can  as  conscientiously  vouch,  as  his  Lordship  could  for  the  truth  of  ."a 
story  commonly  told  in  Ireland  :" — 

"Yesterday  (being  Easter  Monday),  at  the  Cutlers'  Hall,  in  this  town,  the 
Committee  for  abolishing  the  use  of  Climbing  Boys,  and  bettering  the  condition 
of  Chimney  Sweepers*  Apprentices,  gave  their  annual  dinner  to  the  children 
employed  in  that  business  here.  Twenty-two  were  present;  and  though  the 
lads  of  this  town  and  neighbourhood  fare  as  well,  if  not  better,  than  others  in 
the  like  situation  elsewhere,  their  friends  here  are  more  and  more  convinced, 
from  experience,  observation,  and  reflection  during  twelve  years  past,  that  the 
practice  of  employing  Climbing  Boys  to  sweep  chimneys  is  a  national  crime  as 
well  as  a  national  disgrace,  and  ought  to  be  prohibited. 

"A  boy,  about  thirteen  years  of  age,  who  attended  the  dinner  at  the  Cutlers' 
Hall,  on  lust  Easter  Monday,  lately  came  to  a  shocking  and  premature  end,  in 
the  following  manner,  as  we  were,  on  this  occasion,  informed  by  his  companion!. 


THE    CLIMBING   BOY5S   SOLILOQUIES. 


Their  master  being  asleep  in  a  public  house,  in  a  village  in  Derbyshire,  his  two 
apprentices,  who  had  been  sweeping  in  the  neighbourhood,  were  left  with  a 
company  of  fellows  who  were  drinking  together,  and  became  the  butts  of  their 
brutal  conversation.  Among  other  things,  it  was  wantonly  proposed  to  the 
younger  apprentice  to  go  up  the  chimney  of  the  room  in  which  they  were  sitting, 
while  there  was  a  fire  in  the  range.  He  refused ;  hut  the  elder,  tempted  by  a 
promise  of  sixpence,  ventured,  and  was  helped  up  into  the  flue.  Before  he 
reached  the  top,  however,  the  soot  fell  down  in  such  quantities  upon  the  fire 
below,  that  the  chimney  was  soon  in  a  blaze,  and  the  poor  boy  struggled  to  the 
bottom  through  the  flames,  and  \v;i-  dragged  out  by  the  legs  before  he  came 
direct  upon  the  live  co;ils  in  the  grate.  He  was  so  miserably  scorched,  that  he 
died,  after  lingering  three  weeks  in  excruciating  torture." 

I  need  not  further  pursue  the  history  of  parliamentary  proceedings  on  this 
subject,  in  which  my  friends  and  I  bore  our  part  from  time  to  time,  till,  during 
the  last  Session,  an  Act  for  the  total  discontinuance  of  the  evil  practice  pissed 
both  Houses,  almost  without  a  murmur  of  opposition,  under  the  direct  sanction 
of  Her  Majesty's  Government. 

Among  other  intervening  means  for  eventually  bringing  to  pass  this  great 
purpose,  Mr.  Roberts  projected  the  publication  of  a  volume,  to  be  entitled  "  The 
Chimney  Siceepert'  Friend,  and  Climbing'  Boys'  Jlbnm,"  of  which  he  persuaded 
me  to  undertake  the  editorship.  The  first  part  of  the  work,  when  completed, 
contained,  In  various  forms,  a  summary  of  such  information  on  the  general  ques- 
tion as  we  had  been  enabled  to  collect,  during  seventeen  years,  from  the  com- 
mencement of  our  labours  and  inquiries.  The  second  part  consisted  of  essays 
and  tales,  in  prose  and  verse,  illustrative  of  the  tinpitied  and  unalleviated  suffer- 
ings of  children,  under  this  unnatural  bondage,  through  more  than  a  century 
since  its  introduction.  These  were  chiefly  furnished,  at  my  solicitation,  by 
living  authors  of  distinction.  The  volume  was  dedicated,  by  permission,  to  His 
Majesty,  George  IV.,  and  being  soon  out  of  print,  a  new  edition  was  issued  at 
York,  by  a  benevolent  bookseller,  and  sold  extensively  through  the  northern 
provinces. 

The  following  small  pieces  were  my  quota  of  contributions  to  this  work. 

i! 

October  VI,  \SiO. 


PROLOGUE. A   WORD    WITH    MYSELF. 

I  KNOW  they  scorn  the  Climbing  Boy, 
The  gay,  the  selfish,  and  the  proud ; 

I  know  his  villanous  employ 

Is  mockery  with  the  thoughtless  crowd. 

So  be  it ; — brand  with  every  name 

Of  burning  infamy  his  art, 
But  let  his  country  bear  the  shame, 

And  feel  the  iron  at  her  heart. 

I  cannot  coldly  pass  him  by,, 

Stript,  wounded,  left  by  thieves  half  dead ; 


L          


THE    CLIMBING    BOY  S    SOLILOQUIES. 

Nor  see  an  infant  Lazarus  lie 

At  rich  men's  gates,  imploring  bread. 

A  frame  as  sensitive  as  mine, 

Limbs  moulded  in  a  kindred  form, 

A  soul  degraded  yet  divine, 

Endear  to  me  my  brother-worm. 

He  was  my  equal  at  his  birth, 
A  naked,  helpless,  weeping  child ; 

— And  such  are  born  to  thrones  on  earth, 
On  such  hath  every  mother  smiled. 

My  equal  he  will  be  again, 

Down  in  that  cold,  oblivious  gloom, 

Where  all  the  prostrate  ranks  of  men 
Crowd,  without  fellowship,  the  tomb. 

My  equal  in  the  judgment  day, 

He  shall  stand  up  before  the  throne, 

When  every  veil  is  rent  away, 
And  good  and  evil  only  known. 

And  is  he  not  mine  equal  now  ? 

Am  I  less  fall'n  from  God  and  truth, 
Though  "  Wretch"  be  written  on  his  brow, 

And  leprosy  consume  his  youth  ? 

If  holy  nature  yet  have  laws 
Binding  on  man,  of  woman  born, 

In  her  own  court  I'll  plead  his  cause, 
Arrest  the  doom,  or  share  the  scorn. 

Yes,  let  the  scorn  that  haunts  his  course 

Turn  on  me  like  a  trodden  snake, 
And  hiss  and  sting  without  remorse, 

If  I  the  fatherless  forsake. 

» 

Sheffield,  Fcl>.  28, 1624. 


THE    CLIMBING    BOY'S    SOLILOQUIES. 


NO.    I. THE    COMPLAINT. 

WHO  loves  the  Climbing  Boy  ?    Who  cares 

If  well  or  ill  I  be  ? 
Is  there  a  living  soul  that  shares 

A  thought  or  wish  with  me  ? 

IVe  had  no  parents  since  my  birth, 

Brothers  and  sisters  none  ; 
Ah  !  what  to  me  is  all  this  earth 
•     Where  I  am  only  one  ? 

I  wake  and  see  the  morning  shine, 

And  all  around  me  gay  ; 
But  nothing  I  behold  is  mine, 

No,'  not  the  light  of  day ; — 
No,  not  the  very  breath  I  draw  ; 

These  limbs  are  not  my  own ; 
A  master  calls  me  his  by  law, 

My  griefs  are  mine  alone  : 

Ah  !  these  they  could  not  make  h  im  feel- 
Would  they  themselves  had  felt ! 

Who  bound  me  to  that  man  of  steel 
Whom  mercy  cannot  melt. 

Yet  not  for  wealth  or  ease  I  sigh, 

All  are  not  rich  or  great ; 
Many  may  be  as  poor  as  I, 

But  none  so  desolate. 

For  all  I  know  have  kin  and  kind, 
Some  home,  some  hope,  some  joy ; 

But  these  I  must  not  look  to  find, — 
Who  knows  the  Climbing  Boy  ? 

The  world  has  not  a  place  of  rest 

For  outcas*  so  forlorn  ; 
'Twos  all  bespoken,  all  possest, 

Long  before  I  was  born. 
Affection,  too,  life's  sweetest  cup, 

Goes  round  from  hand  to  hand, 


THE    CLIMBING    BOY?S    SOLILOQUIES. 


But  I  am  never  ask'd  to  sup, — 
Out  of  the  ring  I  stand. 

If  kindness  beats  within  my  heart, 
What  heart  will  beat  again  ? 

I  coax  the  dogs,  they  snarl  and  start ; 
Brutes  are  as  bad  as  men. 

The  beggar's  child  may  rise  above 

The  misery  of  his  lot ; 
The  gipsy  may  be  loved,  and  love ; 

But  I — but  I  must  not. 

Hard  fare,  cold  lodgings,  cruel  toil, 
Youth,  health,  and  strength  consume : 

What  tree  could  thrive  in  such  a  soil  ? 
What  flower  so  scathed  could  bloom  ? 

Should  I  outgrow  this  crippling  work, 
How  shall  my  bread  be  sought  ? 

Must  I  to  other  lads  turn  Turk, 
And  teach  what  I  am  taught  ? 

Oh,  might  I  roam  with  flocks  and  herds 

In  fellowship  along ! 
Oh,  were  I  one  among  the  birds, 

All  wing,  and  life,  and  song ! 

Free  with  the  fishes  might  I  dwell 

Down  in  the  quiet  sea ! 
The  snail  in  his  cob-castle  shell — 

The  snail's  a  king  to  me  ! 

For  out  he  glides  in  April  showers, 
Lies  snug  when  storms  prevail ; 

He  feeds  on  fruit,  he  sleeps  on  flowers— 
I  wish  I  was  a  snail ! 

No,  never ;  do  the  worst  they  can 

I  may  be  happy  still ; 
For  I  was  born  to  be  a  man. 

And  if  I  live  I  will 


THE    CLIMBING    BOY'S    SOLILOQUIES. 


NO.  II. THE    DREAM. 

I  DREAMT  ;  but  what  care  I  for  dreams  ? 

And  yet  I  tremble  too ; 
It  look'd  so  like  the  truth,  it  seems 

As  if  it  Avould  come  true. 

I  dreamt  that,  long  ere  peep  of  day, 

I  left  my  cold  straw  bed, 
And  o'er  a  common  far  away, 

As  if  I  flew,  I  fled. 

The  tempest  hurried  me  behind 

Like  a  mill-stream  along ; 
I  could  have  lean'd  against  the  wind, 

It  was  so  deadly  strong. 

The  snow — I  never  saw  such  snow- 
Raged  like  the  sea  all  round, 

Tossing  and  tumbling  to  and  fro ; 
I  thought  I  must  be  drown'd. 

Now  up,  now  down,  with  main  and  might 
I  plunged  through  drift  and  stour; 

Nothing,  no,  nothing  baulk'd  my  flight, 
I  had  a  giant's  power. 

Till  suddenly  the  storm  stood  still, 

Flat  lay  the  snow  beneath ; 
I  curdled  to  an  icicle, 

I  could  not  stir — not  breathe. 

My  master  found  me  rooted  there  ; 

He  flogg'd  me  back  to  sense, 
Then  pluck'd  me  up,  and  by  the  hair, 

Sheer  over  ditch  and  fence, — 

He  dragg'd,  and  dragg'd,  and  dragg'd  me  on, 

For  many  and  many  a  mile  ; 
At  a  grand  house  he  stopp'd  anon ; 

It  was  a  famous  pile. 


THE    CLIMBING    BOY'S    SOLILOQUIES. 


Up  to  the  moon  it  seem'd  to  "rise, 

Broad  as  the  earth  to  stand ; 
The  building  darken'd  half  the  skies, 

Its  shadow  half  the  land. 

All  round  was  still — as  stiD  as  death ; 

I  shivering,  chattering,  stood  ; 
And  felt  the  coming,  going  breath, 

The  tingling,  freezing  blood. 

Soon,  at  my  master's  rap,  rap,  rap, 

The  door  wide  open  flew ; 
In  went  we  ; — with  a  thunder  clap 

Again  the  door  bang'd  to. 

I  trembled,  as  I've  felt  a  bird 

Tremble  within  my  fist ; 
For  none  I  saw,  and  none  I  heard, 

But  all  was  lone  and  whist. 

The  moonshine  through  the  windows  show'd 
Long  stripes  of  light  and  gloom ; 

The  carpet  with  all  colours  glow'd, 
Stone  men  stood  round  the  room : 

Fair  pictures  in  their  golden  frames, 

And  looking-glasses  bright ; 
Fine  things,  I  cannot  tell  their  names, 

Dazed  and-bewitch'd  me  quite. 

Master  soon  thwack'd  them  out  my  head— 

The  chimney  must  be  swept! 
Yet  in  the  grate  the  coals  were^  red  ; 

I  stamp'd,  and  scream'd,  and  wept. 

I  kneel'd,  I  kiss'd  his  feet,  I  pray'd ; 

For  then — which  shoAvs  I  dreamt — 
Methought  I  ne'er  before  had  made 

The  terrible  attempt. 

But,  as  a  butcher  lifts  the  lamb 
That  struggles  for  its  life, 


THE    CLIMBING   BOY's    SOLILOQUIES. 


(Far  from  the  ramping,  bleating  dam,) 
Beneath  his  desperate  knife  ; 

With  his  two  iron  hands  he  grasp'd 

And  hoisted  me  aloof; 
His  naked  neck  in  vain  I  clasp'd, 

The  man  was  pity-proof. 

So  forth  he  swung  me  through  the  space, 

Above  the  smouldering  fire ; 
I  never  can  forget  his  face, 

Nor  his  gruff  growl,  "Go  higher." 

As  if  I  climb'd  a  steep  house-side, 

Or  scaled  a  dark  draw-well, 
The  horrid  opening  was  so  wide, 

I  had  no  hold, — I  fell : 

Fell  on  the  embers,  all  my  length, 

But  scarcely  felt  their  heat, 
When,  with  a  madman's  rage  and  strength 

I  started  on  my  feet ; 

And,  ere  I  well  knew  what  I  did, 

Had  clear' d  the  broader  vent ; 
From  his  wild  vengeance  to  be  hid, 

I  cared  not  where  I  went. 

The  passage  narrow'd  as  I  drew 

Limb  after  limb  by  force, 
Working  and  worming,  like  a  screw, 

My  hard,  slow,  up-hill  course. 

Ilougher  than  harrow-teeth  within, 

Sharp  lime  and  jagged  stone 
Rtripp'd  my  few  garments,  gored  the  skin, 

And  grided  to  the  bone. 

Gall'd,  wounded,  bleeding,  ill  at  ease, 

Still  I  was  stout  at  heart ; 
Head,  shoulders,  elbows,  hands,  feet,  knees, 

All  play'd  a  stirring  part. 


Srt 


THE    CLIMBING   BOY'S    SOLILOQUIES. 


I  climb'd,  and  climb'd,  and  climb'd  in  vain, 

No  light  at  top  appear'd  ; 
No  end  to  darkness,  toil,  and  pain, 

While  worse  and  worse  I  fear'd. 

I^climb'd,  and  climb'd,  and  had  to  climb, 

Yet  more  and  more  astray ; 
A  hundred  years  I  thought  the  time, 

A  thousand  miles  the  way. 

Strength  left  me,  and  breath  fail'd  at  last, 
Then  had  I  headlong  dropp'd, 

But  the  straight  funnel  wedged  me  fast, 
So  there  dead-lock'd  I  stopp'd. 

I  groan'd,  I  gasp'd,  to  shriek  I  tried, 
No  sound  came  from  my  breast ; 

There  was  a  weight  on  every  side, 
As  if  a  stone-delf  press'd. 

Yet  still  my  brain  kept  beating  on 
Through  night-mares  of  all  shapes, 

Foul  fiends,  no  sooner  come  than  gone, 
Dragons,  and  wolves,  and  apes. 

They  gnash'd  on  me  with  bloody  jaws, 
Chatter'd,  and  howl'd,  and  hiss'd : 

They  clutch'd  me  with  their  cat-like  claws, 
While  off  they  whirl'd  in  mist. 

Till,  like  a  lamp-flame,  blown  away, 

My  soul  went  out  in  gloom ; 
Thought  ceased,  and  dead-alive  I  lay, 

Shut  up  in  that  black  tomb. 

Oh,  sweetly  on  the  mother's  lap 

Her  pretty  baby  lies, 
And  breathes  so  freely  in  his  nap, 

She  can't  take  off  her  eyes. 

Ah  !  thinks  she  then, — ah,  thinks  she  not ! 
How  soon  the  time  may  be 


THE   CLIMBING    BOY'S   SOLILOQUIES.  19 

When  all  her  love  will  be  forgot, 
And  he  a  \yretch  like  me  ? 

She  in  her  grave  at  rest  may  lie, 

And  daisies  speck  the  sod, 
Nor  see  him  bleed,  nor  hear  him  cry, 

Beneath  a  ruffian's  rod. 

No  mother's  lap  was  then  my  bed, 

O'er  me  no  mother  smiled  ; 
No  mother's  arm  went  round  my  head, 

— Am  I  no  mother's  child  ? 

Life,  on  a  sudden,  ran  me  through, 

Light,  light,  all  round  me  blazed, 
Red  flames  rush'd  roaring  up  the  flue, 

— Flames  by  my  master  raised 

I  heard  his  voice,  and  ten-fold  might 

Bolted  through  every  limb ; 
I  saw  his  face,  and  shot  upright ; 

Brick  walls  made  way  from  him. 

Swift  as  a  squirrel  seeks  the  bough 

Where  he  may  turn  and  look 
Down  on  the  school-boy,  chop-fallen  now, 

My  ready  flight  I  took. 

The  fire  was  quickly  quench'd  beneath, 

Blue  light  above  me  glanced, 
And  air,  sweet  air,  I  'gan  to  breathe, 

The  blood  within  me  danced. 

I  climb'd,  and  climb'd,  and  climb'd  away, 

Till  on  the  top  I  stood, 
And  saw  the  glorious  dawn  of  day 

Come  down  on  field  and  flood. 

Oh,  me !  a  moment  of  such  joy 

I  never  knew  before  ; 
Right  happy  was  the  climbing-boy. 

Olio  moment, — but  no  more. 


THE    CLIMBING    BOY's    SOLILOQUIES. 


Sick,  sick  I  turn'd,  the  world  ran  round, 

The  stone  I  stood  on  broke, 
And  plumb  I  toppled  to  the  ground, 

— Like  a  scared  owl,  I  woke. 

I  woke,  but  slept  again,  and  dream'd 

The  self-same  things  anew : 
The  storm,  the  snow,  the  building  seem'd 

All  true,  as  daylight's  true. 

But,  when  I  tumbled  from  the  top, 

The  world  itself  had  flown ; 
There  was  no  ground  on  which  to  drop, 

'Twas  emptiness  alone. 

On  winter  nights  Pve  seen  a  star 

Leap  headlong  from  the  sky  ; 
I've  watch'd  the  lightning  from  afar 

Flash  out  of  heaven  and  die. 

So, — but  in  darkness, — so  I  fell 

Through  nothing  to  no  place, 
Until  I  saw  the  flames  of  hell 

Shoot  upward  to  my  face. 

Down,  down,  as  with  a  mill-stone  weight, 
I  plunged  right  through  their  smoke  ! 

To  cry  for  mercy  'twas  too  late, — 
They  seized  me, — I  awoke  : 

Woke,  slept,  and  dream'd  the  like  again 
The  third  time,  through  and  through, 

Except  the  winding  up ; — ah !  then 
I  wish  it  had  been  true. 

For  when  I  climb'd  into  the  air, 

Spring-breezes  flapt  me  round ; 
Green  hills,  and  dales,  and  woods  were  there, 

And  May-flowers  on  the  ground. 

The  moon  was  waning  in  the  west, 
The  clouds  were  golden  red ; 


THE   CLIMBING    BOY'S   SOLILOQUIES.  41 

The  lark,  a  mile  above  his  nest, 
Was  cheering  o'er  my  head. 

The  stars  had  vanish'd,  all  but  one, 

The  darling  of  the  sky, 
That  glitter'd  like  a  tiny  sun, 

No  bigger  than  my  eye. 

I  look'd  at  this, — I  thought  it  smiled. 

Which  made  me  feel  so  glad, 
That  I  became  another  child, 

And  not  the  climbing  lad : 

A  child  as  fair  as  you  may  see, 

Whom  soot  has  never  soil'd 
As  rosy-cheek'd  as  I  might  be 

If  I  had  not  been  spoil'd. 

Wings,  of  themselves,  about  me  grew, 

And,  free  as  morning-light, 
Up  to  that  single  star  I  flew, 

So  beautiful  and  bright. 

Through  the  blue  heaven  I  stretch'd  my  hand 
To  touch  its  beams, — it  broke 
a  sea-bubble  on  the  sand  ; 
Then  all  fell  dark.— I  woke. 


NO.  III. EASTER-MONDAY   AT   SHEFFIELD 

YES,  there  are  some  that  think  of  me ; 

The  blessing  on  their  heads  !  I  say; 
May  all  their  lives  as  happy  be, 

As  mine  has  been  with  them  to-day ! 

When  I  was  sold,  from  Lincolnshire 
To  this  good  town,  I  hoard  a  noise, 

AThat  meny-making  would  be  here 
At  Eastt>yde,  for  climbing  boys. 


1HE    CLIMBING    BOY's    SOLILOQUIES. 


'Twas  strange,  because  where  I  had  been, 
The  better  people  cared  no  more 

For  such  as  me,  than  had  they  seen 
A  young  crab  crawling  on  their  shore. 

Well,  Easter  came  ; — in  all  the  land 
Was  e'er  a  'prentice  lad  so  fine  ! 

A  bran-new  suit  at  second-hand, 

Cap,  shoes,  and  stockings,  all  were  mine. 

The  coat  was  green,  the  waistcoat  red, 
The  breeches  leather,  white  and  clean; 

1  thought  I  must  go  off  my  head, 
I  could  have  jump'd  out  of  my  skin. 

All  Sunday  through  the  streets  I  stroll'd, 

Fierce  as  a  turkey-cock,  to  see 
How  all  the  people,  young  and  old, 

At  least  I  thought  so,  look'd  at  me. 

At  night,  upon  my  truss  of  straw, 

Those  gaudy  clothes  hung  round  the  room, 
By  moon-glimpse  oft  their  shapes  I  saw 
.  Like  bits  of  rainbow  in  the  gloom. 

Yet  scarce  I  heeded  them  at  all, 
Although  I  never  slept  a  wink  ; 

The  feast,  next  day,  at  Cutlers'  Hall, 
Of  that  I  could  not  help  but  think. 

Wearily  trail'd  the  night  away ; 

Between  the  watchman  and  the  clock, 
I  thought  it  never  would  be  day ; 

At  length  out-crew  the  earliest  cock. 

A  second  answer'd,  then  a  third, 

At  a  long  distance, — one,  two,  three,— 

A  dozen  more  in  turn  were  heard  ; 
— I  crew  among  the  rest  for  glee.- 

Up  gat  we,  I  and  little  Bill, 

And  donn'd  our  newest  and  our  best ; 


THE    CLIMBING   BOY'S    SOLILOQUIES. 


Nay,  let  the  proud  say  what  they  will, 
As  grand  as  fiddlers  we  were  drest. 

We  left  our  litter  in  the  nook, 

And  wash'd  ourselves  as  white  as  snow ; 
On  brush  and  bag  we  scorn'd  to  look, 

— It  was  a  holiday,  you  know. 

What  ail'd  me  then  I  could  not  tell, 
I  yawn'd  the  whole  forenoon  away, 

And  hearken'd  while  the  vicar's  bell 

Went  ding  dong,  ding  dong,  pay,  pay,  pay  ! 

The  clock  struck  twelve — I  love  the  twelves 
Of  all  the  hours  'twixt  sun  and  moon ; 

For  then  poor  lads  enjoy  themselves, 
— We  sleep  at  midnight,  rest  at  noon. 

This  noon  was  not  a  resting  time ! 

At  the  first  stroke  we  started  all, 
And,  while  the  tune  rang  through  the  chjme. 

Muster' d,  like  soldiers,  at  the  hall. 

Not  much  like  soldiers  in  our  gait ; 

Yet  never  soldier,  in  his  life, 
Tried,  as  he  march'd,  to  look  more  straight 

Than  Bill  and  I, — to  drum  and  fife. 

But  now  I  think  on't,  what  with  scars, 
Lank,  bony  limbs,  and  spavin'd  feet, 

Like  broken  soldiers  from  the  wars, 
We  limp'd,  yet  strutted  through  the  streei 

Then,  while  our  meagre,  motley  crew 
Came  from  all  fjimrters  of  the  town, 

Folks  to  their  doors  and  windows  flew ; 
I  thought  the  world  turn'd  upside  down. 

For  now,  instead  of  oaths  and  jeers, 

The  sauce  that  I  have  found  elsewhere, 

Kind  words,  and  smiles,  and  hearty  cheers 
Met  us, — with  halfpence  here  and  there. 


44  THE    CLIMBING    BOY's    SOLILOQUIES. 

The  mothers  held  their  babies  high, 
To  chuckle  at  our  hobbling  train, 

But  dipt  them  close  while  we  went  by ; 
— I  heard  their  kisses  fall  like  rain, — 

And  wiped  my  cheek,  that  never  felt 
The  sweetness  of  a  mother's  kiss  ; 

For  heart  and  eyes  began  to  melt, 

And  I  was  sad,  yet  pleased,  with  this. 

At  Cutlers'  Hall  we  found  the  crowd, 
That  shout  the  gentry  to  their  feast ; 

They  made  us  way,  and  bawl'd  so  loud, 
We  might  have  been  young  lords  at  least. 

We  enter'd,  twenty  lads  and  more, 
While  gentlemen,  and  ladies  too, 

All  bade  us  welcome  at  the  door, 

And  kindly  ask'd  us,—"  How  d'ye  do?" 

1  Bravely,"- 1  answer'd,  but  my  eye 
Prickled,  and  leak'd,  and  twinkled  still ; 

I  long'd  to  be  alone,  to  cry, 
— To  be  alone,  and  cry  my  fill. 

Our  other  lads  were  blithe  and  bold, 
And  nestling,  nodding  as  they  sat, 

Till  dinner  came,  their  tales  they  told, 
And  talk'd  of  this,  and  laugh'd  at  that. 

I  pluck'd  up  courage,  gaped,  and  gazed 
On  the  fine  room,  fine  folks,  fine  things, 

Chairs,  tables,  knives,  and  forks,  amazed, 
With  pots  and  platters  fit  for  kings. 

Roast-beef,  plum-pudding,  and  Avhat  not, 
Soon  smoked  before  us, — such  a  size, 

Giants  their  dinners  might  have  got ; 
We  open'd  all  our  mouths  and  eyes 

Anon,  upon  the  board,  a  stroke 

Warn'd  each  to  stand  up  in  his  place 


THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 


One  of  our  generous  friends  then  spoke 
Three  or  four  words — they  call'd  it  Grace. 

I  think  he  said — "  GOD  bless  our  food  !" 
— Oft  had  I  heard  that  name,  in  tones 

Which  ran  like  ice,  cold  through  my  blood, 
And  made  the  flesh  creep  on  my  bones. 

But  now,  and  with  a  power  so  sweet, 

The  name  of  God  went  through  my  heart. 

That  my  lips  trembled  to  repeat 

Those  words,  and  tears  were  fain  to  start. 

Tears,  words,  were  in  a  twinkle  gone, 

Like  sparrows  whirring  through  the  street. 

When,  at  a  sign,  we  all  fell  on, 
As  geese  in  stubble,  to  our  meat. 

The  large  plum-puddings  first  were  carved, 
And  well  we  younkers  plied  them  o'er ; 

You  would  have  thought  we  had  been  starved, 
Or  were  to  be, — a  month  or  more. 

Next  the  roast-beef  flew  reeking  round 

In  glorious  slices,  mark  ye  that ! 
The  dishus  were  with  gravy  drown'd;, 

A  sight  to  make  a  weasel  fat. 

A  great  meat-pie,  a  good  meat-pie, 

Baked  in  a  cradle-length  of  tin, 
Was  open'd,  emptied,  scoop'd  so  dry, 

You  might  have  seen  your  face  within. 

The  ladies  and  the  gentlemen 

Took  here  and  there  with  us  a  seat ; 

They  might  be  hungry,  too, — but  then 
We  gave  them  little  time  to  eat. 

Their  arms  were  busy  helping  us, 
Like  cobblers'  elbows  at  their  work, 

Or  see-saw,  see-saw,  thus  and  thus ; 
A  merry  game  at  knife  and  fork. 


THE    CLIMBING    BOY7S    SOLILOQUIES. 


Oh  then  the  din,  the  deafening  din, 

Of  plates,  cans,  crockery,  spoons  and  knives, 

And  waiters  running  out  and  in  ; 
We  might  be  eating  for  our  lives. 

Such  feasting  I  had  never  seen, 

So  presently  had  got  enough  ; 
The  rest,  like  fox-hounds,  stanch  and  keen, 

Were  made  of  more  devouring  stuff. 

They  cramm'd  like  cormorants  their  claws, 
As  though  they  never  would  have  done  ; 

It  was  a  feast  to  watch  their  jaws 
Grind,  and  grow  weary,  one  by  one. 

But  there's  an  end  to  every  thing ; 

And  this  grave  dinner  pass'd  away, 
I  wonder  if  great  George  our  king 

Has  such  a  dinner  every  day. 

Grace  after  meat  again  was  said, 
And  my  good  feelings  sprang  anew, 

But  at  the  sight  of  gingerbread, 

Wine,  nuts,  and  oranges,  they  flew. 

So  while  we  took  a  turn  with  these, 

Almost  forgetting  we  had  dined  ; 
As  though  we  might  do  what  we  please, 

We  loll'd,  and  joked,  and  told  our  mind. 

Now  I  had  time,  if  not  before, 

To  take  a  peep  at  every  lad ; 
1  counted  them  to  twenty-four, 

Each  in  his  Easter-finery  clad. 

All  wash'd  and  clean  as  clean  could  be, 
And  yet  so  dingy,  marr'd,  and  grim, 

A  mole  with  half  an  eye  might  see 
Our  cra'ft  in  every  look  and  limb. 

All  shapes  but  straight  ones  you  might  find 
As  sapling-firs  on  the.  high  moors. 


THE   CLIMBING   BOY  S    SOLILOQUIES. 


Black,  stunted,  crook'd,  through  which  the  wind 
Like  a  wild  bull,  all  winter  roars. 

Two  toddling  five-year  olds  were  there, 
Twins,  that  had  just  begun  to  climb, 

With  cherry-cheeks,  and  curly  hair, 
And  skins  not  yet  engrain'd  with  grime. 

I  wish'd,  I  did,  that  they  might  die, 

Like  "  Babes  i'  th'  Wood,"  the  little  slaves, 

And  "  Robin  redbreast"  painfully 

Hide  them  "with  leaves,"  for  want  of  graves; — 

Rather  than  live,  like  me,  and  weep 

To  think  that  ever  they  were  born ; 
Toil  the  long  day,  and  from  short  sleep 

Wake  to  fresh  miseries  every  morn. 

Gay  as  young  goldfinches  in  spring, 

They  chirp'd  and  peck'd,  top-full  of  joy, 

As  if  it  was  some  mighty  thing 
To  be  a  chimney-sweeper's  boy. 

And  so  it  is,  on  such  a  day 

As  welcome  Easter  brings  us  here, 
— In  London,  too,  the  first  of  May, — 

But  oh,  what  is  it  all  the  year ! 

Close  at  a  Quaker-lady's  side, 

Sate  a  young  girl ; — I  know  not  how 

I  felt  when  me  askance  she  eyed, 
And  a  quick  blush  flew  o'er  her  brow 

For  then,  just  then,  I  caught  a  face 

Fair, — but  I  oft  had  seen  it  black, 
And  mark'd  the  owner's  tottering  pace 

Beneath  a  vile  tv>bushel  sack. 

Oh  !  had  I  known  ii  was  a  lass, 

Could  I  have  scorn'd  her  with  her  load  T 

—Next  time  we  meet,  she  shall  not  pass 
Without  a  lift  along  the  road. 


48  THE    CLIMBING   BOY*S    SOLILOQUIES. 

Her  mother, — mother  but  in  name  ! 

Brought  her  to-day  to  dine  with  us : 
Her  father, — she's  his  'prentice  : — shame 

On  both,  to  use  their  daughter  thus  ! 

Well,  /  shall  grow,  and  she  will  grow 

Older, — it  may  be  taller, — yet ; 
And  if  she'll  smile  on  me,  I  know 

Poor  Poll  shall  be  poor  Reuben's  pet. 

Time,  on  his  two  unequal  legs, 

Kept  crawling  round  the  church-clock's  face, 
Though  none  could  see  him  shift  his  pegs, 

Each  was  for  ever  changing  place. 

Oh,  why  are  pleasant  hours  so  short  ? 

And  why  are  wretched  ones  so  long  ? 
They  fly  like  swallows  when  we  sport, 

They  stand  like  mules  when  all  goes  wrong. 

Before  we  parted,  one  kind  friend, 
And  then  another,  talk'd  so  free ; 

They  went  from  table-end  to  end, 
And  spoke  to  each,  and  spoke  to  me. 

Books,  pretty  books,  with  pictures  in, 
Were  given  to  those  who  learn  to  read, 

Which  show'd  them  how  to  flee  from  sin, 
And  to  be  happy  boys  indeed. 

These  climbers  go  to  Sunday-schools, 
And  hear  what  things  to  do  or  shun, 

Get  good  advice,  and  golden  rules 
For  all  their  lives, — but  I'm  not  one. 

Nathless  I'll  go  next  Sabbath  day 

Where  masters,  without  thrashing,  teach 

Lost  children  how  to  read,  and  pray, 
And  sing,  and  hear  the  parsons  preach. 

For  I'm  this  day  determined — not 
With  bad  companions  to  grow  old. 


THE    CLI1W6ING    BOY*S    SOLILOQUIES. 


But,  weal  or  wo,  whate'er  my  lot, 
To  mind  what  our  good  friends  have  told. 

They  told  us  tHinjs  I  never  knew 

Of  Him  who  heaven  and  earth  did  make ; 

And  my  heart  felt  their  words  were  true, 
It  burn'd  within  me  while  they  spake. 

Can  I  forget  that  God  is  love, 

And  sent  his  son  to  dwell  on  earth  ? 

Or  that  our  Saviour  from  above 
Lay  in  a  manger  at  his  birth, — 

Grew  up  in  humble  poverty, 
A  life  of  grief  and  sorrow  led  ? 

No  home  to  comfort  Him  had  He  ; 
No,  not  a  place  to  lay  his  head. 

Yet  He  was  merciful  and  kind, 

Heal'd  with  a  touch  all  sort  of  harms ; 

The  sick,  the  lame,  the  deaf,  the  bliud ; 
And  took  young  children  in  his  a/mr. 

Then  He  was  kill'd  by  wicked  men, 
And  buried  in  a  deep  stone  cave  ; 

But  of  Himself  He  rose  again, 

On  Easter-Sunday,  from  the  grave. 

Caught  up  in  clouds, — at  God's  right  ilai  d, 
In  heaven  He  took  the  highest  place  ; 

There  dying  Stephen  saw  him  stand, 
—Stephen,  who  had  an  angel's  face. 

He  loves  the  poor,  He  always  did ; 

The  little  ones  are  still  his  care ; 
I'll  seek  Him, — let  who  will  forbid, — 

I'll  go  to  Him  this  night  in  prayer. 

Oh,  soundly,  soundly  should  I  sleep, 
And  think  no  more  of  sufferings  past, 

If  God  would  only  bless,  and  keep, 
And  make  me  his, — his  own,  at  last 

bkeffitld,  Marck,  1834. 


SONGS  OF  ZION, 


IMITATIONS   OF  THE  PSALMS. 


having  followed  in  the  track  of  none,  he  would  venture  to  hope,  that,  by  avoid- 
ing the  rugged  literality  of  some,  and  the  diffusive  paraphrases  of  others,  he 
may,  in  a  few  instances,  have  approached  nearer  than  either  of  them  have 
generally  done  to  the  ideal  model  of  what  devotional  poems,  in  a  modern  tongue, 
grounded  upon  the  subjects  of  ancient  psalms,  yet  suited  for  Christian  edifica- 
tion, ought  to  be.  Beyond  this  he  dare  not  say  more  than  that,  whatever  symp- 
toms of  feebleness  or  bad  taste  may  be  betrayed  in  the  execution  of  these  pieces, 
he  offers  not  to  the  public  the  premature  fruits  of  idleness  or  haste.  So  far  as 
he  recollects,  he  has  endeavoured  to  do  his  best,  and,  in  doing  so,  he  has  never 
hesitated  to  sacrifice  ambitious  ornament  to  simplicity,  clearness,  and  force  of 


Sheffield,  May  21,  1822. 


PSALM  I. 

THRICE  happy  he,  who  shuns  the  way 
That  leads  ungodly  men  astray ; 
Who  fears  to  stand  where  sinners  meet, 
Nor  with  the  scorner  takes  his  seat. 

The  law  of  God  is  his  delight ; 
That  cloud  by  day,  that  fire  by  night, 
Shall  be  his  comfort  in  distress, 
And  guide  him  through  the  wilderness. 


90 


SONGS    OF    ZION.  01 


His  works  shall  prosper ; — he  shall  be 
A  fruitful,  fair,  unwithering  tree, 
That,  planted  where  the  river  flows, 
Nor  drought,  nor  frost,  nor  mildew  knows 

Not  so  the  wicked ; — they  are  cast 
Like  chaff  upon  the  eddying  blast ; 
In  judgment  they  shall  quake  for  dread, 
Nor  with  the  righteous  lift  their  head. 

For  God  hath  spied  their  secret  path, 
And  they  shall  perish  in  his  wrath ; 
He  too  hath  mark'd  his  people's  road, 
And  brings  them  to  his  own  abode. 


PSALM  III. 

THE  Tempter  to  my  soul  hath  said, 
"  There  is  no  help  in  God  for  thee :" 

Lord  !  lift  thou  up  thy  servant's  head, 
My  glory,  shield,  and  solace  be. 

Thus  to  the  Lord  I  raised  my  cry ; 

He  heard  me  from  his  holy  hill ; 
At  his  command  the  waves  roll'd  by ; 

He  beckon'd,  and  the  winds  were  still. 

I  laid  me  down  and  slept ; — I  woke ; 

Thou,  Lord  !  my  spirit  didst  sustain ; 
Bright  from  the  east  the  morning  broke, 

Thy  comforts  rose  on  me  again. 

I  will  not  fear,  though  armed  throngs 
Compass  my  steps,  in  all  their  wrath : 

Salvation  to  the  Lord  belongs  ; 

His  presence  guards  his  people's  path 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


PSALM  IV.— No.  1. 

How  long,  ye  sons  of  men,  will  ye 
The  servant  of  the  Lord  despise, 

Delight  yourselves  with  vanity, 
And  trust  in  refuges  of  lies  ? 

Know  that  the  Lord  hath  set  apart 

The  godly  man  in  every  age  : 
He  loves  a  meek  and  lowly  heart ; 

His  people  are  his  heritage. 

Then  stand  in  awe,  nor  dare  to  sin ; 

Commune  with  your  own  heart ;  be  still ; 
The  Lord  requireth  truth  within, 

The  sacrifice  of  mind  and  will. 


PSALM  IV.— No.  2. 

WHILE  many  cry,  in  Nature's  night, 
Ah  !  who  will  show  the  way  to  bliss  I 

Lord  !  lift  on  us  thy  saving  light ; 
We  seek  no  other  guide  than  this. 

Gladness  thy  sacred  presence  brings, 
More  than  the  joyful  reaper  knows ; 

Or  he  who  treads  the  grapes,  and  sings, 
While  with  new  wine  his  vat  o'erflows. 

In  peace  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep ; 

Thine  arm,  O  Lord  !  shall  stay  my  head, 
Thine  angel  spread  his  tent,  and  keep 

His  midnight  watch  around  my  bed. 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


PSALM  VIII. 

O  LORD,  our  King !  how  excellent 

Th)  name  on  earth  is  known  ! 
Thy  gloiy  in  the  firmament 

How  wonderfully  shown ! 

Yet  are  the  humble  dear  to  Thee ; 

Thy  praises  are  confest 
By  infants  lisping  on  the  knee, 

And  sucklings  at  the  breast. 

When  I  behold  the  heavens  on  high, 

The  work  of  thy  right  hand ; 
The  moon  and  stars  amid  the  sky, 

Thy  lights  in  every  land : — 

Lord !  what  is  man,  that  thou  shouldst  deign 

On  him  to  set  thy  love, 
Give  him  on  earth  a  while  to  reign, 

Then  fill  a  throne  above  ? 

O  Lord,  how  excellent  thy  name  ! 

How  manifold  thy  ways  ! 
Let  Time  thy  saving  truth  proclaim, 

Eternity  thy  praise. 


PSALM  XI. 

THE  Lord  is  in  his  holy  place, 

And  from  his  throne  on  high 
He  looks  upon  the  human  race 

With  omnipresent  eye. 

He  proves  the  righteous,  marks  their  path ; 

In  him  the  weak  are  strong ; 
Hut  violence  provokes  his  wrath, 

The  Lord  abhorreth  wrong. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


God  on  the  wicked  will  rain  down 
Brimstone,  and  fire,  and  snares  ; 

The  gloom  and  tempest  of  his  frown ; 
— This  portion  shall  be  theirs. 

The  righteous  Lord  will  take  delight 

Alone  in  righteousness ; 
The  just  are  pleasing  in  his  sight, 

The  humble  He  will  bless. 


PSALM  XV. 

LORD  !  who  is  he  that  shall  abide 

Within  thy  tabernacle  here  ? 
Who  on  thy  holy  hill  reside  ? 

— He  that  maintains  a  conscience  clear 

He  that  in  his  uprightness  walks, 
Who  from  his  heart  the  truth  will  ted 

Of  others  ne'er  malignly  talks, 

Nor  lets  his  tongue  on  slanders  dwell: 

He  who  his  neighbour  never  wrongs, 
But,  while  the  base  ones  are  abhorr'd 

Pays  the  high  honour  that  belongs 

To  those  who  fear  and  love  the  Lord : — 

He  that  to  his  own  hurt  will  swear, 

Nor  change  his  word,  his  covenant  break ; 

Nor  lend  on  usury  to  ensnare, 

Nor  bribes  to  slay  the  righteous  take : — 

He  who  doth  these  shall  not  be  moved, 
For  God  will  surely  him  uphold, 

And  bring,  when  in  the  furnace  tried, 
Forth  from  the  fire,  refined  like  gold. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


PSALM  XIX.— No.  1. 

THY  glory,  Lord  !  the  heavens  declare, 
The  firmament  displays  thy  skill ; 

The  changing  clouds,  the  viewless  air, 
Tempest  and  calm  thy  word  fulfil ; 

Day  unto  day  doth  utter  speech, 

And  night  to  night  thy  knowledge  teach. 

Though  voice  nor  sound  inform  the  ear, 
Well  known  the  language  of  their  song, 

When  one  by  one  the  stars  appear, 
Led  by  the  silent  moon  along, 

Till  round  the  earth,  from  all  the  sky, 

Thy  beauty  beams  on  every  eye. 

Waked  by  thy  touch,  the  morning  sun 
Comes  like  a  bridegroom  from  his  bower, 

And,  like  a  giant,  glad  to  run 

His  bright  career  with  speed  and  power ; 

— Thy  flaming  messenger,  to  dart 

Life  through  the  depth  of  Nature's  heart. 

While  these  transporting  visions  shine 
Along  the  path  of  Providence, 

Glory  eternal,  joy  divine, 

Thy  word  reveals,  transcending  sense ; 

—My  soul  thy  goodness  longs  to  see, 

Thy  love  to  man,  thy  love  to  me. 


PSALM  XIX.— No.  2. 

THY  law  is  perfect,  Lord  of  light ! 

Thy  testimonies  sure ; 
The  statutes  of  thy  realm  are  right, 

And  thy  commandment  pure. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


Holy,  inviolate  thy  fear, 

Enduring  as  thy  throne  ; 
Thy  judgments,  chastening  or  severe, 

Justice  and  truth  alone. 

More  prized  than  gold,— than  gold  whose  waste 

Refining  fire  expels ; 
Sweeter  than  honey  to  my  taste, 

Than  honey  from  the  cells. 

Let  these,  O  God !  my  soul  convert, 

And  make  thy  servant  wise  ; 
Let  these  be  gladness  to  my  heart, 

The  day-spring  to  mine  eyes. 

By  these  may  I  be  warn'd  betimes ; 

Who  knows  the  guile  within  ? 
Lord !  save  me  from  presumptuous  crimes, 

Cleanse  me  from  secret  sin ! 

So  may  the  words  my  lips  express, 
The  thoughts  that  throng  my  mind, 

O  Lord,  my  strength  and  righteousness ! 
With  thee  acceptance  find. 


PSALM  XX. 

JEHOVAH  hear  thee  in  the  day 

Of  thine  adversity ; 
The  God  of  Jacob  be  thy  stay, 

His  name  thy  stronghold  be  : — 

Help  from  his  sanctuary  send, 
Strength  from  his  holy  hill ; 

Accept  thy  vows,  thy  prayers  attend, 
Thy  heart's  desires  fulfil. 

In  thy  deliverance  we  rejoice, 
And  in  Jehovah's  name 


SONGS    OF   ZION. 


Lift  up  our  banners  and  our  voice, 
His  triumphs  to  proclaim. 

Now  know  we  that  the  Lord  will  hear 

His  own  Anointed  One, 
And  rescue  him  from  every  fear ; 

— So  let  his  will  be  done. 

While  some  in  chariots  put  their  trust, 

On  horses  some  rely, 
Those  shall  be  broken,  these  like  dust 

Before  the  whirlwind  fly. 

But  we  remember  God  alone, 
And  hope  iu  Him,  whose  hand 

Will  raise  us  up  though  overthrown, 
Though  fall'n  will  make  us  stand. 

God  save  the  King, — the  people  save  ! 

Lord  !  hear  a  nation's  cries  : 
From  death  redeem  us,  and  the  grave, 

To  life  beyond  the  skies. 


PSALM  XXIII. 

THE  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  no  want  shall  I  know ; 

I  feed  m  green  pastures,  safe-folded  I  rest ; 
He  leadrth  my  soul  where  the  still  waters  flow, 

Restores  me  when  wandering,  redeems  when  opprest. 

Through  the  valley  and  shadow  of  death  though  I  stray, 
Since  Thou  art  my  guardian,  no  evil  I  fear; 

Thy  rod  shall  defend  me,  thy  staff  be  my  stay, 
No  harm  can  befall,  with  my  Comforter  near. 

In  the*midst  of  affliction  my  table  is  spread, 

With  blessings  unmeasured  my  cup  runneth  o'er; 

With  perfume  and  oil  Thou  anointest  my  head ; 
O  what  shall  I  ask  of  thy  Providence  more  ? 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


Let  goodness  and  mercy,  my  bountiful  God ! 

Still  follow  my  steps  till  I  meet  Thee  above ; 
I  seek, — by  the  path  which  my  forefathers  trod 

Through  the  land  of  their  sojourn, — thy  kingdom  of  love. 


PSALM  XXIV.— No.  1. 

THE  earth  is  thine,  Jehovah  ! — thine 
Its  peopled  realms  and  wealthy  stores  ; 

Built  on  the  flood,  by  power  divine, 
The  waves  are  ramparts  to  the  shores. 

But  who  shall  reach  thine  holy  place, 
Or  who,  0  Lord  !  ascend  thine  hill? 

The  pure  in  heart  shall  see  thy  face, 
The  perfect  man  that  doth  thy  will. 

He  who  to  bribes  hath  closed  his  hand, 

To  idols  never  bent  the  knee, 
Nor  sworn  in  falsehood, — He  shall  stand 

Redeem'd,  and  own'd,  and  kept  by  Thee. 


PSALM  XXIV.— No.  2. 

LIFT  up  your  heads,  ye  gates  !  and  wide 
Your  everlasting  doors  display ; 

Ye  angel-guards  !  like  flames  divide, 
And  give  the  King  of  Glory  way. 

Who  is  the  King  of  Glory  ? — He, 
The  Lord  Omnipotent  to  save, 

Whose  o\vn  right  arm  in  victory 

Led  captive  death,  and  spoil'd  the  grave. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates  !  and  high 
Your  everlasting  portals  heave  ; 

Welcome  the  king  of  Glory  nigh  ; 

Him  let  the  heaven  of  heavens  receive 


SONGS    OF   ZION. 


Who  is  the  King  of  Glory  ?— Who  ? 

The  Lord  of  Hosts ; — behold  his  name ; 
The  kingdom,  power,  and  honour  due 

Yield  Him,  ye  saints,  with  glad  acclaim. 


PSALM  XXIV.— No.  1. 
(THE  SECOND  VERSION.) 

THE  earth  is  God's  with  all  its  stores, 
The  world  and  all  therein  that  be ; 

Upon  the  flood  He  fix'd  the  shores, 
And  gave  his  law  unto  the  sea. 

His  holy  mountain  who  shall  climb, 
Or  tread  his  courts  without  offence  ? 

— He  who  hath  cleansed  his  heart  from  crime, 
And  wash'd  his  hands  in  innocence  : — 

From  vanity  hath  turn'd  his  eyes, 

Nor  put  to  shame  his  neighbour's  trust, 

Practised  deceit,  or  utter'd  lies  ; — 
He  that  is  upright,  pure,  and  just. 

These  shall  enjoy  Jehovah's  grace  ; 

To  them  his  mercy  shall  be  shown ; 
For  these  are  they  that  seek  thy  face  ; 

These,  God  of  Jacob !  Thou  wilt  own. 


PSALM  XXIV.— No.  2. 
(THE  SECOND  VERSION.) 

LIFT  up  your  heads,  ye  gates !  behold 
The  King  of  Glory  draweth  nigh  ; 

Ye  everlasting  doors  !  unfold 

And  give  Him  welcome  to  the  sky 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


Who  is  this  King  of  Glory, — who  ? 

— Jehovah,  strong  and  mighty : — He 
His  foes  in  battle  overthrew, 

And  crown' d  Himself  with  victory. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates  !  on  high ; 

Eternal  .doors  !  throw  wide  your  leaves ; 
The  King  of  Glory  draweth  nigh, 

And  Him  the  heaven  of  heavens  receive. 

Who  is  this  King  of  Glory, — say  ? 

— The  Lord  of  Hosts,  whom  we  proclaim; 
He  is  the  King  of  Glory  : — they 

That  know  his  power  wil?  fear  his  Name. 


PSALM  XXVIL— No.  1. 

GOD  is  my  strong  salvation, 

What  foe  have  I  to  fear  ? 
In  darkness  and  temptation, 

My  light,  my  help  is  near : 
Though  hosts  encamp  around  me, 

Firm  to  the  fight  I  stand ; 
What  terror  can  confound  me, 

With  God  at  my  right  hand  ? 

Place  on  the  Lord  reliance, 

My  soul,  with  courage  wait ; 
His  truth  be  thine  affiance, 

When  faint  and  desolate  : 
His  might  thine  heart  shall  strengthen, 

His  love  thy  joy  increase  ; 
Mercy  thy  days  shall  lengthen  ; 

— The  Lord  will  give  thee  peace 


SONGS    OF   ZION.  8J 


PSALM  XXVIL— No.  2. 

ONE  thing,  with  all  my  soul's  desire, 

I  sought  and  will  pursue ; 
What  thine  own  Spirit  doth  inspire, 

Lord !  for  thy  servant  do. 

Grant  me  within  thy  courts  a  place, 

Among  thy  saints  a  seat, 
For  ever  to  behold  thy  face, 

And  worship  at  thy  feet : — 

In  thy  pavilion  to  abide, 

When  storms  of  trouble  blow, 
And  in  thy  tabernacle  hide, 
1    Secure  from  every  foe. 

"  Seek  ye  my  face ;" — without  delay, 
When  thus  I  hear  Thee  speak, 

My  heart  would  leap  for  joy,  and  say, 
"Thy  face,  Lord,  will  I  seek." 

Then  leave  me  not  when  griefs  assail, 
And  earthly  comforts  flee ; 

When  father,  mother,  kindred  fail, 
My  God  !  remember  me. 

Oft  had  I  fainted,  and  resign'd 

Of  every  hope  my  hold, 
But  mine  afflictions  brought  to  mind 

Thy  benefits  of  old. 

Wait  on  the  Lord,  with  courage  wait; 

My  soul !  disdain  to  fear ; 
The  righteous  Judge  is  at  the  gate, 

And  thy  redemption  near 


SONGS   OF   ZTON. 


PSALM  XXIX. 

GIVE  glory  to  God  in  the  highest !  give  praise, 
Ye  noble,  ye  mighty,  with  joyful  accord ; 

All-wise  are  his  counsels,  all-perfect  his  ways ; 
In  the  beauty  of  holiness  worship  the  Lord  ! 

The  voice  of  the  Lord  on  the  ocean  is  known, 
The  God  of  eternity  thundereth  abroad ; 

The  voice  of  the  Lord,  from  the  depth  of  his  throne, 
Is  terror  and  power ; — all  nature  is  avv'd. 

At  the  voice  of  the  Lord  the  cedars  are  bow'd, 
And  towers  from  their  base  into  ruin  are  hurl'd ; 

The  voice  of  the  Lord,  from  the  dark-bosom'd  cloud, 
Dissevers  the  lightning  in  flames  o'er  the  world. 

See  Lebanon  bound,  like  the  ki,d  on  his  rocks, 
And  wild  as  the  unicorn  Sirion  appear : 

The  wilderness  quakes  with  the  resonant  shocks  ; 
The  hinds  cast  their  young  in  the  travail  of  fear. 

The  voice  of  the  Lord  through  the  calm  of  the  wood 
Awakens  its  echoes,  strikes  light  through  its  caves ; 

The  Lord  sitteth  King  on  the  turbulent  flood ; 
The  winds  are  his  servants,  his  servants  the  waves. 

The  Lord  is  the  strength  of  his  people  ;  the  Lord 
Gives  health  to  his  people,  and  peace  evermore ; 

Then  throng  to  his  temple,  his  glory  record, 
But,  oh !  when  he  speaketh,  in  silence  adore 


PSALM  XXX. 

YEA,  I  will  extol  Thee, 
Lord  of  life  and  light ! 

For  thine  arm  upheld  me, 
Turn'd  my  foes  to  flight : 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


I  implored  thy  succour, 

Thou  wert  swift  to  save, 
Heal  my  wounded  spirit, 

Bring  me  from  the  grave. 

Sing,  ye  saints,  sing  praises  ! 

Call  his  love  to  mind : 
For  a  moment  angry, 

But  for  ever  kind : 
Grief  may,  like  a  stranger, 

Through  the  night  sojourn, 
Yet  shall  joy  to-morrow 

With  the  sun  return. 

[n  my  wealth  I  vaunted, 

"  Naught  shall  move  me  hence ;" 
Thou  hadst  made  my  mountain 

Strong  in  thy  defence : 
— Then  thy  face  was  hidden, 

Trouble  laid  me  low, 
"  Lord,"  I  cried,  most  humbly, 

"Why  forsake  me  so  ? 

"  Would  my  blood  appease  Thee, 

In  atonement  shed  ? 
Can  the  dust  give  glory, — 

Praise  employ  the  dead  ? 
Hear  me,  Lord  !  in  mercy ; 

God,  my  helper,  hear ;" 
— Long  Thou  didst  not  tarry, 

Help  and  health  were  near. 

Thou  hast  turn'd  my  mourning 

Into  minstrelsy, 
Girded  me  with  gladness, 

Set  from  thraldom  free  : 
Thee  my  ransom'd  powers 

Henceforth  shall  adore, — 
Thee,  my  great  Deliverer, 

Bless  for  evermore ! 


SONGS   OF   2ION. 


PSALM  XXXIX. 

LORD  !  let  me  know  mine  end, 
My  days,  how  brief  their  date, 

That  I  may  timely  comprehend 
How  frail  my  best  estate. 

My  life  is  but  a  span, 

Mine  age  as  naught  with  Thee ; 
Man,  in  his  highest  honour,  man 

Is  dust  and  vanity. 

A  shadow  even  in  health, 

Disquieted  with  pride, 
Or  rack'd  with  care,  he  heaps  up  wealth 

Which  unknown  heirs  divide. 

What  seek  I  now,  O  Lord  ? 

My  hope  is  in  thy  name  ; 
Blot  out  my  sins  from  thy  record, 

Nor  give  me  up  to  shame. 

Dumb  at  thy  feet  I  lie, 

For  Thou  hast  brought  me  low : 
Remove  thy  judgments,  lest  I  die ; 

I  faint  beneath  thy  blow. 

At  thy  rebuke,  the  bloom 

Of  man's  vain  beauty  flies  ; 
And  grief  shall,  like  a  moth,  consume 

All  that  delights  our  eyes. 

Have  pity  on  my  fears, 

Hearken  to  my  request, 
Turn  not  in  silence  from  my  tears, 

But  give  the  mourner  rest. 

A  stranger,  Lord  !  with  Thee, 

I  walk  on  pilgrimage, 
Where  all  my  fathers  once,  like  me, 

Sojourn'd  from  age  to  age. 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


O  spare  me  yet,  I,  pray  ! 

Awhile  my  strength  restore, 
Ere  I  am  summon'd  hence  away, 

And  seen  on  earth  no  more. 


PSALM  XLIL— No.  1. 
i 

As  the  hart,  with  eager  looks, 

Panteth  for  the  water-brooks, 
So  my  soul,  athirst  for  Thee, 
Pants  the  living  God  to  see : 
When,  O  when,  with  filial  fear, 
Lord  !  shall  I  to  Thee  draw  near  ? 

Tears  my  food  by  night,  by  day 
Grief  consumes  my  strength  away ; 
While  his  craft  the  Tempter  plies, 
"  Where  is  now  thy  God  ?"  he  cries ; 
This  would  sink  me  to  despair, 
But  I  pour  my  soul  in  prayer. 

For  in  happier  times  I  went 
Where  the  multitude  frequent : 
I,  with  them,  was  wont  to  bring 
Homage  to  thy  courts,  my  King! 
I,  with  them,  was  wont  to  raise   . 
Festal  hymns  on  holy  days. 

Why  art  thou  cast  down,  my  soul  ? 
God,  thy  God,  shall  make  thee  whole: 
Why  art  thou  disquieted  ? 
God  shall  lift  thy  fallen  head ; 
And  his  countenance  benign 
Be  the  saving  health  of  thine. 


SONGS   OF   ZION. 


PSALM  XLIL— ND.  2. 

HEARKEN,  Lord,  to  my  complaints, 

For  my  soul  within  me  faints ; 

Thee,  far  off,  I  call  to  mind, 

In  the  land  I  left  behind, 

Where  the  streams  of  Jordan  flow, 

Where  the  heights  of  Hermoh  glow 

Tempest-tost,  my  failing  bark 
Founders  on  the  ocean  dark  ; 
Deep  to  deep  around  me  calls, 
With  the  rush  of  water-falls  ; 
While  I  plunge  to  lower  caves, 
Overwhelm'd  by  all  thy  waves.. 

Once  the  morning's  earliest  light 
Brought  thy  mercy  to  my  sight, 
And  my  wakeful  song  was  heard 
Later  than  the  evening  bird  ; 
Hast  Thou  all  my  prayers  forgot  ? 
Dost  Thou  scorn,  or  hear  them  not  ? 

Why,  my  soul,  art  thou  perplex'd  ? 
Why  with  faithless  trouble  vex'd  ? 
Hope  in  God,  \vhose  saving  name 
Thou  shalt  joyfully  proclaim, 
When  his  countenance  shall  shine 
Through  the  clouds  that  darken  thine 


PSALM  XLIII.— No.  3. 
[[CONTINUATION  OF  PSALM  XLII.] 

JUDGE  me,  Lord,  in  "righteousness; 
Plead  for  me  in  my  distress  : 
Good  and  merciful  Thou  art, 
Bind  this  bleeding,  broken  heart ; 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


Cast  me  not  despairing  hence, 
Be  thy  love  my  confidence. 

Send  thy  light  and  truth  to  guide 
Me,  too  prone  to  turn  aside, 
On  thy  holy  hill  to  rest, 
In  thy  tabernacles  blest ; 
There,  to  God,  my  chiefest  joy, 
Praise  shall  all  my  powers  employ 

Why,  my  soul,  art  thou  dismay'd  ? 
Why  of  earth  or  hell  afraid  ? 
Trust  in  God  ; — disdain  to  yield, 
While  o'er  thee  He  casts  his  shield, 
And  his  countenance  divine 
Sheds  the  light  of  Heaven  on  thine. 


PSALM  XLVL— No.  1. 

GOD  is  our  refuge  and  defence, 

In  trouble  our  unfailing  aid  ; 
Secure  in  his  omnipotence, 

What  foe  can  make  our  soul  afraid  ? 

Yea,  though  the  earth's  foundations  rock, 
And  mountains  down  the  gulf  be  hurl'd, 

His  people'  smile  amid  the  shock, 

They  look  beyond  this  transient  world. 

There  is  a  river  pure  and  bright,  ( 

Whose  streams  make  glad  the  heavenly  plains ; 

Where,  in  eternity  of  light, 
The  city  of  our  God  remains. 

Built  by  the  word  of  his  command, 

With  his  unclouded  presence  blest, 
Firm  as  his  throne  the  bulwarks  stand  ; 

There  is-  our  home,  our  hope,  our  rest. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


Thither  let  fervent  faith  aspire  ; 

.Our  treasure  and  our  heart  be  there  : 
Oh  for  a  seraph's  wing  of  fire  ! 

No, — on  the  mightier  wings  of  prayer, — 

We  reach  at  once  the  last  retreat, 

And,  ranged  among  the  ransom'd  throng, 

Fall  with  the  Elders  at  his  feet, 

Whose  name  alone  inspires  their  song. 

Ah,  soon,  how  soon !  our  spirits  droop  ; 

Unwont  the  air  of  heaven  to  breathe  : 
Yet  God  in  very  deed  will  stoop, 

And  dwell  Himself  with  men  beneath. 

Come  to  thy  living  temples,  then, 
As  in  the  ancient  times  appear ; 

Let  earth  be  paradise  again, 

And  man,  O  God  !  thine  image  here. 


PSALM  XLVL— No.  2. 

COME  and  behold  the  works  of  God, 

What  desolations  he  will  make  ; 
In  vengeance  when  He  wields  his  rod, 
The  heathen  rage,  their  kingdoms  quakf; 
He  utters  forth  his  voice  ; — 'tis  felt ; 
Like  wax  the  world's  foundations  melt 
The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  in  the  field, 
The  God  of  Jacob  is  our  shield. 

Again  he  maketh  wars  to  cease, 

He  breaks  the  bow,  unpoints  the  spear, 
And  burns  the  chariot ; — joy  and  peace 
In  all  his  glorious  march  appear : 
Silence,  O  Earth  !  thy  Maker  own 
Ye  Gentiles,  He  is  God  alone ; 
The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  in  the  field 
The  God  of  Jacob  is  our  shield 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


PSALM  XL VII. 

EXTOL  the  Lord,  the  Lord  most  high, 

King  over  all  the  earth  ; 
Exalt  his  triumphs  to  the  sky 

In  songs  of  sacred  mirth. 

Where'er  the  sea-ward  rivers  run, 

His  banner  shall  advance, 
And  every  realm  beneath  the  sun 

Be  his  inheritance. 

God  is  gone  up  with  loud  acclaim, 
And  trumpets'  tuneful  voice; 

Sing  praise,  sing  praises  to  his  name ; 
Sing  praises,  and  rejoice  ! 

Sing  praises  to  our  God  !  sing  praise 

To  every  creature's  King  ! 
His  wondrous  works,  his  glorious  ways, 

All  tongues,  all  kindred  sing. 

God  sits  upon  his  holy  throne, 
God  o'er  the  heathen  reigns  ; 

His  truth  through  all  the  world  is  known, 
That  truth  his  throne  sustains. 

Princes  around  his  footstool  throng, 

Kings  in  the  dust  adore  ; 
Earth  and  her  shields  to  God  belong: 

Sing  praises  evermore ! 


PSALM  XLVIII 

JEHOVAH  is  great,  and  great  be  his  praise ; 

In  the  city  of  God  He  is  King; 
Proclaim  ye  his  triumphs  in  jubilant  lays, 

On  the  mount  of  his  holiness  sing. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


The  joy  of  the  earth,  from  her  beautiful  height, 

Is  Zion's  impregnable  hill ; 
The  Lord  in  her  temple  still  taketh  delight, 

God  reigns  in  her  palaces  still. 

At  the  sight  of  her  splendour,  the  kings  of  the  earth 
Grew  pale  with  amazement  and  dread  ; 

Fear  seized  them  like  pangs  of  a  premature  birth ; 
They  came,  they  beheld  her,  and  fled. 

Thou  breakest  the  ships  from  the  sea-circled  climes, 
When  the  storm  of  thy  jealousy  lowers ; 

As  our  fathers  have  told  of  thy  deeds,  in  their  times, 
So,  Lord,  have  we  witness'd  in  ours. 

In  the  midst  of  thy  temple,  O  God  !  hath  our  mind 

Remember'd  thy  mercy  of  old ; 
Let  thy  name,  like  thy  praise,  to  no  realm  be  confined 

Thy  power  may  all  nations  behold. 

Let  the  daughters  of  Judah  be  glad  for  thy  love, 

The  mountain  of  Zion  rejoice, 
For  Thou  will  establish  her  seat  from  above, 

— Wilt  make  her  the  throne  of  thy  choice. 

Go,  walk  about  Zion,  and  measure  the  length, 
Her  walls  and  her  bulwarks  mark  well ; 

Contemplate  her  palaces,  glorious  in  strength, 
Her  towers  and  their  pinnacles  tell. 

Then  say  to  your  children : — Our  stronghold  is  tried  • 

This  God  is  our  God  to  the  end  ; 
His  people  for  ever  his  counsels  shall  guide, 

His  arm  shall  for  ever  defend. 


PSALM  LI. 

HAVE  mercy  on  me,  O  my  God ! 

In  loving-kindness  hear  my  prayer; 
Withdraw  the  terror  of  thy  rod ; 

Lord !  in  thy  tender  mercy,  spare 


SONGS    OF   ZION.  Tl 


Offences  rise  where'er  I  look  ; 

But  I  confess  their  guilt  to  Thee : 
Blot  my  transgressions  from  thy  book, 

Cleanse  me  from  mine  iniquity. 

Whither  from  vengeance  can  I  run  ? 

Just  are  thy  judgments,  Lord,  and  right: 
For  all  the  evil  I  have  done, 

I  did  it  only  in  thy  sight. 

Shapen  in  frailty,  born  in  sin, 
From  error  how  shall  I  depart  ? 

Lo,  thou  requires!  truth  wkhin  ; 

Lord !  write  thy  truth  upon  my  heart. 

Me  through  the  blood  of  sprinkling  make 
Pure  from  defilement,  white  as  snow; 

Heal  me  for  my  Redeemer's  sake ; 
Then  joy  and  gladness  I  shall  know. 

A  perfect  heart  in  me  create, 
Renew  my  soul  in  innocence ; 

Cast  not  the  suppliant  from  thy  gate, 
Nor  take  thine  Holy  Spirit  hence. 

Thy  consolations,  as  of  old, 

Now  to  my  troubled  mind  restore  ; 
By  thy  free  Spirit's  might  uphold 

And  guide  my  steps,  to  fall  no  more. 
Then  sinners  will  I  teach  thy  ways, 

And  rebels  to  thy  sceptre  bring ; 
— Open  my  lips,  O  God  !  in  praise, 

So  shall  my  mouth  thy  goodness  sing. 

Not  streaming  blood,  nor  purging  fire, 

Thy  righteous  anger  can  appease  ; 
Burnt-offerings  thou  dost  not  require, 

Or  gladly  I  would  render  these. 
The  broken  heart  in  sacrifice, 

Alone  may  thine  acceptance  meet; 
My  heart,  O  God  !  do  not  despise, 

Broken  and  contrite,  at  thy  feet 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


PSALM  LXIII. 

O  GOD  !  Thou  art  my  God  alone, 
Early  to  Thee  my  soul  shall  cry ; 

A  pilgrim  in  a  land  unknown, 

A  thirsty  land  whose  "springs  are  dry. 

Oh  that  it  were  as  it  hath  been, 
When,  praying  in  the  holy  place, 

Thy  power  and  glory  I  have  seen, 

And  mark'd  the  footsteps  of  thy  grace ! 

Yet,  through  this  rough  and  thorny  maze, 
I  follow  hard  on  Thee,  my  God  ! 

Thine  hand  unseen  upholds  my  ways, 
I  safely  tread  where  Thou  hast  trod. 

Thee,  in  the  watches  of  the  night, 
When  I  remember  on  my  bed, 

Thy  presence  makes  the  darkness  light, 
Thy  guardian  wings  are  round  my  head. 

Better  than  life  itself  thy  love, 

Dearer  than  all  beside  to  me  ; 
For  whom  have  I  in  heaven  above, 

Or  what  on  earth  compared  with  Thee  ? 

Praise  with  my  heart,  my  mind,  my  voice, 

For  all  thy  mercy  I  will  give  ; 
My  soul  shall  still  in  God  rejoice, 

My  tongue  shall  bless  Thee  while  I  live. 


PSALM  LXIX. 

GOD  !  be  merciful  to  me, 
For  my  spirit  trusts  in  Thee, 
And  to  Thee,  her  refuge,  springs : 
Be  the  shadow  of  thy  wings 


\ 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


Round  the  trembling  sinner  cast, 
Till  the  storm  is  overpast. 

From  the  water-floods  that  loll 
Deep  and  deeper  round  my  soul, 
Me,  thine  arm  almighty  take, 
For  thy  loving-kindness'  sake : 
If  thy  truth  from  me  depart, 
Thy  rebuke  would  break  my  heart. 

Foes  increase,  they  close  me  round, 
Friend  nor  comforter  is  found ; 
Sore  temptations  now  assail, 
Hope,  and  strength,  and  courage  fail ; 
Turn  not  from  thy  servant's  grief. 
Hasten,  Lord  !  to  my  relie'. 

Poor  and  sorrowful  am  I ; 
Set  me,  O  my  God  !  on  high  : 
Wonders  Thou  for  me  hast  wrought ; 
Nigh  to  death  my  soul  is  brought ; 
Save  me,  Lord  !  in  mercy  save, 
Lest  I  sink  below  the  grave 


PSALM  LXX. 

HASTEN,  Lord,  to  my  release, 
Haste  to  help  me,  O  my  God ! 

Foes,  like  armed  bands,  increase ; 
Turn  them  back  the  way  they  trod 

Dark  temptations  round  me  press, 
Evil  thoughts  my  soul  assail ; 

Doubts  and  fears,  in  my  distress, 
Rise,  till  flesh  and  spirit  fail. 

Those  that  seek  Thee  shall  rejoice ; 
I  am  bow'd  with  misery  ; 


SONGS   OF   ZTON. 


Yet  I  make  thy  law  my  choice ; 
Turn,  my  God  !  and  look  on  me 

Thou  mine  only  Helper  art, 
My  Redeemer  from  the  grave  ; 

Strength  of  my  desiring  heart, 
Do  not  tarry,  haste  to  save  ! 


PSALM  LXXI. 

LORD  !  I  have  put  my  trust  in  Thee, 
Turn  not  my  confidence  to  shame  ; 

Thy  promise  is  a  rock  to  me, 
A  tower  of  refuge  is  thy  name. 

Thou  hast  upheld  me  from  the  womb ; 

Thou  wert  my  strength  and  hope  in  youth  ; 
Now,  trembling,  bending  o'er  the  tomb, 

I  lean  upon  thine  arm  of  truth. 

Though  I  have  long  outlived  my  peers, 
And  stand  amid  the  world  alone, 

(A  stranger,  left  by  former  years,) 

I  know  my  God, — by  Him  am  known. 

Cast  me  not  off  in  mine  old  age, 
Forsake  me  not  in  my  last  hour ; 

The  foe  hath  not  foregone  his  rage, 
The  lion  ravens  to  devour. 

Not  far,  my  God,  not  far  remove  : 

Sin  and  the  world  still  spread  their  snares ; 
Stand  by  me  now,  or  they  will  prove 

Too  crafty  yet  for  my  gray  hairs. 

Me,  through  what  troubles  hast  Thou  brought1 
Me,  with  what  consolations  crown'd ! 

Now  be  thy  last  deliverance  wrought ; 
My  soul  in  peace  with  Thee  be  found  ' 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


PSALM  LXXII. 

HAIL  to  the  Lord's  anointed  ! 

Great  David's  greater  Son : 
Hail,  in  the  time  appointed, 

His  reign  on  earth  begun  1 
He  comes  to  break  oppression, 

To  let  the  captive  free ; 
To  take  away  transgression, 

And  rule  in  equity. 

He  comes,  with  succour  speedy, 

To  those  who  suffer  wrong ; 
To  help  the  poor  and  needy, 

And  bid  the  weak  be  strong ; 
To  give  them  songs  for  sighing, 

Their  darkness  turn  to  light, 
Whose  souls,  condemn'd  and  dying, 

Were  precious  in  his  sight. 

By  such  shall  He  be  feared, 

While  sun  and  moon  endure, 
Beloved,  obey'd,  revered  ; 

For  He  shall  judge  the  poor, 
Through  changing  generations, 

With  justice,  mercy,  truth, 
While  stars  maintain  their  stations, 

Or  moons  renew  their  youth. 

He  shall  come  down,  like  showers 

Upon  the  fruitful  earth, 
And  love,  joy,  hope,  like  flowers, 

Spring  in  his  path  to  birth  ; 
Before  Him,  on  the  mountains, 

Shall  Peace  the  herald  go ; 
And  righteousness  in  fountains 

From  hill  to  valley  flow. 

Arabia's  desert-ranger, 

To  Him  shall  bow  the  knee ; 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


The  Ethiopian  stranger 

His  glory  come  to  see ; 
With  offerings  of  devotion, 

Ships  from  the  isles  shall  meet 
To  pour  the  wealth  of  ocean 

In  tribute  at  his  feet. 

Kings  shall  fall  down  before  Him, 

And  gold  and  incense  bring ; 
All  nations  shall  adore  Him, 

His  praise  all  people  sing ; 
For  He  shall  have  dominion 

O'er  river,  sea,  and  shore, 
Far  as  the  eagle's  pinion 

Or  dove's  light  wing  can  soar 

For  Him  shall  prayer  unceasing, 

'  And  daily  vows  ascend ; 
His  kingdom  still  increasing, 

A  kingdom  without  end  ; 
The  mountain-dews  shall  nourish 

A  seed  in  weakness  sown, 
Whose  fruit  shall  spread  and  flourish, 

And  shake  like  Lebanon. 

O'er  every  foe  victorious, 

He  on  his  throne  shall  rest, 
From  age  to  age  more  glorious, 

All-blessing  and  all-blest ; 
The  tici3  of  time  shall  never 

His  covenant  remove ; 
His  name  shall  stand  for  ever : 

That  name  to  us  is — Love. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


PSALM  LXXIII. 

TRULY  the  Lord  is  good  to  those, 

The  pure  in  heart,  who  love  his  name ; 

But  as  for  me,  temptation  rose, 

And  well-nigh  cast  me  down  to  shame. 

For  I  was  envious  at  their  state, 

When  I  beheld  the  wicked  rise, 
And  flourish  in  their  pride  elate, 

No  fear  of  death  before  their  eyes. 

Not  troubled  they,  as  others  are, 

Nor  plagued,  with  all  their  vain  pretence ; 
Pride  like  a  chain  of  gold  they  wear, 

And  clothe  themselves  with  violence. 

Swcdn  are  their  eyes  with  wine  and  lust, 
For  more  than  heart  can  wish  have  they ; 

In  fraud  and  tyranny  they  trust 
To  make  the  multitude  their  prey. 

Their  mouth  assails  the  heavens;  their  tongue 
Walks  arrogantly  through  the  earth ; 

Pleasure's  full  cups  to  them  are  wrung ; 
They  reel  in  revelry  and  mirth. 

"  Who  is  the  Lord,  that  we  should  fear 
L?st  He  our  dark  devices  know  ? 

Who  the  Most  High,  that  He  should  hear, 
Or  heed,  the  words  of  men  below  ?" 

Thus  cry  the  mockers,  flush'd  with  health, 
Exulting  while  their  joys  increase; 

These  are  th'  ungodly  ; — men,  whose  wealth 
Flows  like  a  river,  ne'er  to  cease. 

And  have  I  cleansed  my  heart  in  vain, 
And  wash'd  in  innocence  my  hands? 

All  day  afflicted,  I  complain, 

All  night  I  mourn  in  str°;»enmg  bands 


78  SONGS    OF    ZiON. 


Too  painful  this  for  me  to  view, 
Till  lo  thy  temple,  Lord,  I  went, 

And  then  their  fearful  end  I  knew, 
How  suddenly  their  light  is  spent. 

Surely,  in  slippery  places  set, 

Down  to  perdition  these  are  hurl'd ; 

Snared  in  the  toils  of  their  own  net, 
A  spectacle  to  all  the  world. 

As,  from  a  dream  when  one  awakes, 
The  phantoms  of  the  brain  take  flight ; 

So,  when  thy  wrath  in  thunder  breaks, 
Their  image  shall  dissolve  in  night. 

Abash'd,  my  folly  then  I  saw ; 

I  seem'd  before  Thee  like  a  brute  ; 
Smit  to  the  heart,  o'erwhelm'd  with  awe, 

I  bow'd,  and  worshipp'd,  and  was  mute. 

Yet  Thou  art  ever  at  my  side  ; 

O  !  still  uphold  me,  and  defend  ; 
Me  by  thy  counsel  Thou  shah  guide, 

And  bring  to  glory  in  the  end. 

Whom  have  I,  Lord !  in  heaven  but  Thee  ? 

On  earth  shall  none  divide  my  heart ; 
Then  fail  my  flesh,  my  spirit  flee, 

Thou  mine  eternal  portion  art. 


PSALM  LXXVII. 

IN  time  of  tribulation, 

Hear,  Lord  !  my  feeble  cries ; 
With  humble  supplication, 

To  Thee  my  spirit  flies  : 
My  heart  with  grief  is  breaking, 

Scarce  can  my  voice  complain ; 
Mine  eyes,  with  tears  kept  waking, 

Still  watch  and  weep  in  vain 


SONGS    OF    ZION.  7t 


The  days  of  old,  in  vision, 

Bring  vanish'd  bliss  to  view; 
The  years  of  lost  fruition 

Their  joys  in  pangs  renew : 
Remember'd  songs  of  gladness, 

Through  night's  lone  silence  brought. 
Strike  notes  of  deeper  sadness, 

And  stir  desponding  thought. 

Hath  God  cast  off  for  ever? 

Can  time  his  truth  impair  ? 
His  tender  mercy,  never 

Shall  I  presume  to  share  ? 
Hath  He  his  loving-kindness 

Shut  up  in  endless  wrath  ? 
— No ; — this  is  my  own  blindness, 

That  cannot  see  his  path. 

I  call  to  recollection 

The  years  of  his  right  hand ; 
And,  strong  in  his  protection, 

Again  through  faith  I  stand : 
Thy  deeds,  O  Lord !  are  wonder ; 

Holy  are  all  thy  ways  ; 
The  secret  place  of  thunder 

Shall  utter  forth  thy  praise. 

Thee,  with  the  tribes  assembled, 

O  God  '.  the  billows  saw ; 
They  saw  Thee,  and  they  trembled, 

Turn'd,  and  stood  still,  with  awe : 
The  clouds  shot  hail — they  lighten'd ; 

The  earth  reel'd  to  and  fro ; 
Thy  fiery  pillar  brighten'd 

The  gulf  of  gloom  below. 

Thy  way  is  in  great  waters, 
Thy  footsteps  are  not  known  ; 

Let  Adam's  sons  and  daughters 
Confide  in  Thee  alone : 


8C  SONGS    OF    ZION. 

Through  the  wild  sea  Thou  leddest 
Thy  chosen  flock  of  yore  ; 

Still  on  the  waves  Thou  treadest, 
And  thy  redeem'd  pass  o'er. 


PSALM  LXXX. 

OF  old,  O  God  !  thine  own  right  hand 
A  pleasant  vine  did  plant  and  train ; 

Above  the  hills,  o'er  all  the  land, 

It  sought  the  sun,  and  drank  the  rain. 

Its  boughs  like  goodly  cedars  spread, 
Forth  to  the  river  went  the  root ; 

Perennial  verdure  crown'd  its  head, 
It  bore,  in  every  season,  fruit. 

That  vine  is  desolate  and  torn, 

Its  scions  in  the  dust  are  laid ; 
Rank  o'er  the  ruin  springs  the  thorn, 

The  wild  boar  wallows  in  the  shade. 
Lord  God  of  Hosts  !  thine  ear  incline, 

Change  into  songs  thy  people's  fears ; 
Return,  and  visit  this  thy  vine, 

Revive  thy  work  amidst  the  years. 

The  plenteous  and  continual  dew 
Of  thy  rich  blessing  here  descend  ; 

So  shall  thy  vine  its  leaf  renew, 

Till  o'er  the  earth  its  branches  bend. 

Then  shall  it  flourish  wide  and  far, 
While  realms  beneath  its  shadow  rest ; 

The  morning  and  the  evening  star 

Shall  mark  its  bounds  from  east  to  west. 

So  shall  thine  enemies  be  dumb, 

Thy  banish'd  ones  no  more  enslaved, 

The  fulness  of  the  Gentiles  come, 
And  Israel's  youngest  born  be  saved. 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


PSALM  LXXXIV. 

How  amiable,  how  fair. 

O  Lord  of  Hosts  !  to  me 
Thy  tabernacles  are ! 

My  flesh  cries  out  for  Thee  ; 
My  heart  and  soul,  with  heaven-ward  fire 
To  Thee,  the  living  God,  aspire. 

The  sparrow  here  finds  place 

To  build  her  little  nest ; 
The  swallow's  wandering  race 

Hither  return  and  rest ; 
Beneath  thy  roof  their  young  ones  cry, 
And  round  thine  altar  learn  to  fly. 

Thrice-blessed  they  who  dwell 

Within  thine  house,  my  God ! 
Where  daily  praises  swell, 

And  still  the  floor  is  trod 
By  those,  who  in  thy  presence  bow, 
By  those,  whose  King  and  God  art  Thou. 

Through  Baca's  arid  vale, 

As  pilgrims  when  they  pass, 
The  well-springs  never  fail, 

Fresh  rain  renews  the  grass ; 
From  strength  to  strength  they  journey  still, 
Till  all  appear  on  Zion's  hill. 

Lord  God  of  Hosts  !  give  ear, 

A  gracious  answer  yield ; 
O  God  of  Jacob !  hear ; 

Behold,  O  God !  our  shield ; 
Look  on  thine  own  Anointed  One, 
And  save  through  thy  beloved  Son. 

Lord  !  I  would  rather  stand 

A  keeper  at  thy  gate, 
Than  on  the  king's  right  hand 

In  tents  of  worldly  state ; 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


One  day  within  thy  courts,  one  day, 
Is  worth  a  thousand  cast  away. 

God  is  a  sun  of  light, 

Glory  and  grace  to  shed ; 
God  is  a  shield  of  might, 

To  guard  the  faithful  head : 
O  Lord  of  Hosts  !  how  happy  he, 
The  man  who  puts  his  trust  in  Thee  ! 


PSALM  XC- 

LORD  !  Thou  hast  been  thy  people's  rest 
Through  all  their  generations, 

Their  refuge  when  hy  danger  prest, 
Their  hope  in  tribulations  ; 

Thou,  ere  the  mountains  sprang  to  birth, 

Or  ever  thou  hadst  form'd  the  earth, 
Art  God  from  everlasting  ! 

The  sons  of  men  return  to  clay, 
When  Thou  the  word  hast  spoken, 

As  with  a  torrent  borne  away, 
Gone  like  a  dream  when  broken : 

A  thousand  years  are,  in  thy  sight, 

But  as  a  watch  amid  the  night, 
Or  yesterday  departed. 

At  morn,  we  flourish  like  the  grass 
With  dew  and  sunbeams  lighted, 

But  ere  the  cool  of  evening  pass, 
The  rich  array  is  blighted : 

Thus  do  thy  chastisements  consume 

Youth's  tender  leaf  and  beauty's  bloom 
We  fade  at  thy  displeasure. 

Our  life  is  like  the  transient  breath 
That  tells  a  mournful  story  ; 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


Early  or  late,  stopt  short  by  death ; 

And  where  is  all  our  glory  ? 
Our  days  are  threescore  years  and  ten, 
And  if  the  span  be  lengthen'd  then, 

Their  strength  is  toil  and  sorrow. 

Lo !  thou  hast  set  before  thine  eyes 

All  our  misdeeds  and  errors  ; 
Our  secret  sins  from  darkness  rise, 

At  thine  awakening  terrors  : 
Who  shall  abide  the  trying  hour? 
Who  knows  the  thunder  of  thy  power? 

We  flee  unto  thy  mercy. 

Lord  !  teach  us  so  to  mark  our  days, 
That  we  may  prize  them  duly ; 

So  guide  our  feet  in  Wisdom's  ways, 
That  we  may  love  Thee  truly ; 

Return,  O  Lord,  our  griefs  behold, 

And  with  thy  goodness,  as  of  old, 
O  satisfy  us  early  ! 

Restore  our  comforts  as  our  fears, 

Our  joy  as  our  affliction  ; 
Give  to  thy  church,  through  changing  years, 

Increasing  benediction ; 
Thy  glorious  beauty  there  reveal, 
And  with  thy  perfect  image  seal 

Thy  servants  and  their  labours. 


PSALM  XCI. 

CALL  Jehovah  thy  salvation, 

Rest  beneath  th'  Almighty's  shade ; 
In  his  secret  habitation 

Dwell,  nor  ever  be  dismay'd  : 
There  no  tumult  can  alarm  tliee, 

Thou  shall  dread  no  hidden  snare  ; 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


Guile  nor  violence  can  harm  thee, 
In  eternal  safeguard  there. 

From  the  sword  at  noon-day  wasting, 

From  the  noisome  pestilence, 
In  the  depth  of  midnight  blasting, 

God  shall  be  thy  sure  defence : 
Fear  not  thou  the  deadly  quiver, 

When  a  thousand  feel  the  blow ; 
Mercy  shall  thy  soul  deliver, 

Though  ten  thousand  be  laid  low. 

Only  with  thine  eye,  the  anguish 

Of  the  wicked  thou  shalt  see, 
When  by  slow  disease  they  languish, 

When  they  perish  suddenly : 
Thee,  though  winds  and  waves  be  swelling, 

God,  thine  hope,  shall  bear  through  all; 
Plague  shall  not  come  nigh  thy  dwelling, 

Thee  no  evil  shall  befall. 

He  shall  charge  his  angel-legions, 

Watch  and  ward  o'er  thee  to  keep, 
Though  thou  walk  through  hostile  legions, 

Though  in  desert-wilds  thou  sleep  : 
On  the  lion  vainly  roaring, 

On  his  young  thy  foot  shall  tread ; 
And,  the  dragon's  den  exploring, 

Thou  shalt  bruise  the  serpent's  head. 

Since,  with  pure  and  warm  affection, 

'  Thou  on  God  hast  set  thy  love, 
With  the  wings  of  his  protection 

He  will  shield  thee  from  above  : 
Thou  shalt  call  on  Him  in  trouble, 

He  will  hearken,  He  will  save, 
Here  for  grief  reward  thee  double 

Crown  with  life  beyond  the  grave. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


PSALM  XCIII. 

THE  Lord  is  King ; — upon  his  throne 
He  sits  in  garments  glorious  ; 

Or  girds  for  war  his  armour  on, 
In  every  field  victorious : 

The  world  came  forth  at  his  command ; 

Built  on  his  word,  its  pillars  stand ; 
They  never  can  be  shaken. 

The  Lord  was  King  ere  time  began, 

His  reign  is  everlasting; 
When  high  the  floods  in  tumult  ran, 

Their  foam  to  heaven  up-casting, 
He  made  the  raging  waves  his  path ; 
— The  sea  is  mighty  in  its  wrath, 

But  God  on  high  is  mightier. 

Thy  testimonies,  Lord  !  are  sure ; 

Thy  realm  fears  no  commotion, 
Firm  as  the  earth,  whose  shores  endure 

Th'  eternal  toil  of  ocean : 
And  Thou  with  perfect  peace  wilt  bless 
Thy  faithful  flock  ; — for  holiness 

Becomes  thine  house  for  ever. 


PSALM  XCV. 

O  COME,  let  us  sing  to  the  Lord, 

In  God  our  salvation  rejoice  ; 
In  psalms  of  thanksgiving  record 

His  praise,  with  one  spirit,  one  voice ! 
For  Jehovah  is  King,  and  He  reigns, 

The  God  of  all  gods,  on  his  throne ; 
The  strength  of  the  hills  he  maintains, 

The  ends  of  the  earth  are  his  own. 


60  SONGS    OF    ZION. 


The  sea  is  Jehovah's ; — He  made 

The  tide  its  dominion  to  know ; 
The  land  is  Jehovah's  ; — He  laid 

Its  solid  foundations  below : 
Oh  come,  let  us  worship,  and  kneel 

Before  our  Creator,  our  God  ! 
— The  people  who  serve  Him  with  zeal, 

— The  flock  whom  He  guides  with  his  rod 

As  Moses,  the  fathers  of  old 

Through  the  sea  and  the  wilderness  led. 
His  wonderful  works  we  behold, 

With  manna  from  heaven  are  fed : 
To-day,  let  us  hearken,  to-day, 

To  the  voice  that  yet  speaks  from  abovu. 
And  all  his  commandments  obey, 

For  all  his  commandments  are  love. 

His  wrath  let  us  fear  to  provoke, 

To  dwell  in  his  favour  unite  ; 
His  service  is  freedom,  his  yoke 

Is  easy,  his  burden  is  light : 
But,  x)h  !  of  rebellion  beware, 

Rebellion,  that  hardens  the  breast, 
Lest  God  in  his  anger  should  swear 

That  we  shall  not  enter  his  rest. 


PSALM  C. 

BE  joyful  in  God,  all  ye  lands  of  the  earth ! 

Oh,  serve  Him  with  gladness  and  fear ! 
Exult  in  his  presence  with  music  and  mirth, 

With  love  and  devotion  draw  near. 

For  Jehovah  is  God, — and  Jehovah  alone, 

Creator  and  ruler  o'er  all ; 
And  we  are  his  people,  his  sceptre  we  own; 

His  sheep,  and  we  follow  his  call. 


SONGS   OF   ZION. 


Oh,  enter  his  gates  with  thanksgiving  and  song, 
Your  vows  in  his  temple  proclaim ; 

His  praise  with  melodious  accordance  prolong, 
And  bless  his  adorable  name  ! 

For  good  is  the  Lord,  inexpressibly  good, 
And  we  are  the  work  of  his  hand  ; 

His  mercy  and  truth  from  eternity  stood. 
And  shall  to  eternity  stand 


PSALM  cm.  i 

O  MY  so\il !  with  all  thy  powers, 

Bless  the  Lord's  most  holy  name; 
O  my  soul !  till  life's  last  hours, 
Bless  the  Lord,  his  praise  proclaim : 
Thine  infirmities  He  heal'd  ; 
He  thy  peace  and  pardon  seal'd. 

He  with  loving-kindness  crown'd  thee, 

Satisfied  thy  mouth  with  good  ; 
From  the  snares  of  death  unbound  thee, 
Eagle-like  thy  youth  renew'd : 
Rich  in  tender  mercy  He, 
Slow  to  wrath,  to  favour  free. 

He  will  not  retain  displeasure, 

Though  awhile  He  hide  his  face ; 
Nor  his  God-like  bounty  measure 
By  our  merit,  but  his  grace :  « 

As  the  heaven  the  earth  transcends, 
Over  us  his  care  extends. 

Far  as  east  and  west  are  parted, 

He  our  sins  hath  s,ever'd  thus : 
As  a  father,  loving-hearted, 
Spares  his  son,  HP  spareth  us ; 
For  He  knows  our  feeble  frame, 
He  remembers  whcno*  we  came. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


Mark  the  field-flower,'  where  it  groweth, 

Frail  and  beautiful ; — anon, 
When  the  south-wind  softly  bloweth, 
Look  again, — the  flower  is  gone  ! 
Such  is  man ;  his  honours  pass, 
Like  the  glory  of  the  grass 

From  eternity,  enduring 

To  eternity, — the  Lord, 
Still  his  people's  bliss  insuring, 
Keeps  his  covenanted  word : 

Yea,  with  truth  and  righteousness, 
Children's  children  He  will  bless. 

As  in  heaven,  his  throne  and  dwelling, 

King  on  earth  he  holds  his  sway  ; 
Angels  !  ye  in  strength  excelling, 
Bless  the  Lord,  his  voice  obey ; 
All  his  works  beneath  the  pole, 
Bless  the  Lord,  with  thee,  my  sou. ! 


PSALM  CIV. 

MY  soul !  adore  the  Lord  of  might : 

With  uncreated  glory  crown'd, 
And  clad  in  royalty  of  light, 

He  draws  the  curtain'd  heavens  around ; 
Dark  waters  his  pavilion  form, 
Clouds  are  his  car,  his  wheels  the  storm. 

Lightning  before  Him,  and  behind 
Thunder  rebounding  to  and  fro ; 
He  walks  upon  the  winged  wind, 
And  reins  the  blast,  or  lets  it  go : 

—This  goodly  globe  his  wisdom  plann'd, 
He  fix'd  the  bounds  of  sea  and  land. 


_ 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


When  o'er  a  guilty  world,  of  old, 

He  summon'd  the  avenging  main, 
At  his  rebuke  the  billows  roll'd 
Back  to  their  parent  gulf  again  ; 

The  mountains  raised  their  joyful  heads, 
Like  new  creations,  from  their  beds. 

Thenceforth  the  self-revolving  tide 
Its  daily  fall  and  flow  maintains ; 
Through  winding  vales  fresh  fountains  glide, 
Leap  from  the  hills,  or  course  the  plains ; 
There  thirsty  cattle  throng  the  brink, 
And  the  wild  asses  bend  to  drink. 

Fed  by  the  currents,  fruitful  groves 

Expand  their  leaves,  their  fragrance  fling, 
Where  the  cool  breeze  at  noon-tide  roves, 
And  birds  among  the  branches  sing ; 
Soft  fall  the  showers  when  day  declines, 
And  sweet  the  peaceful  rainbow  shines. 

Grass  through  the  meadows,  rich  with  flowers, 

God's  bounty  spreads  for  herds  and  flocks : 
On  Lebanon  his  cedar  towers, 

The  wild  goats  bound  upon  his  rocks; 
Fowls  in  his  forests  build  their  nests, 
— The  stork  amid  the  pine-tree  rests. 

To  strengthen  man,  condemn'd  to  toil, 
He  fills  with  grain  the  golden  ear ; 
Bids  the  ripe  olive  melt  with  oil, 

And  swells  the  grape,  man's  heart  to  cKeer; 
— The  moon  her  tide  of  changing  knows, 
Her  orb  with  lustre  ebbs  and  flows 

The  sxm  goes  down,  the  stars  come  out ; 
He  maketh  darkness,  and  'tis  night ; 
Then  roam  the  beasts  of  prey  about. 
The  desert  rings  with  chase  and  flight; 
The  lion,  and  the  lion's  brood, 
Look  up, — and  God  provides  them  food 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


Morn  dawns  far  east ;  ere  long  the  sun 

Warms  the  glad  nations  with  his  beams ; 
Day,  in  their  dens,  the  spoilers  shun, 
And  night  returns  to  them  in  dreams : 
Man  from  his  couch  to  labour  goes, 
Till  evening  brings  again  repose  ! 

How  manifold  thy  works,  O  Lord  ! 

In  wisdom,  power,  and  goodness  wrought ; 
The  earth  is  with  thy  riches  stored, 
And  ocean  with  thy  wonders  fraught: 
Unfathom'd  caves  beneath  the  deep 
For  Thee  their  hidden  treasures  keep. 

There  go  the  ships,  with  sails  unfurl'd, 

By  Thee  directed  on  their  way; 
There,  in  his  own  mysterious  world, 
Leviathan  delights  to  play  ; 

And  tribes  that  range  immensity, 
Unknown  to  man,  are  known  to  Thee. 

By  Thee  alone  the  living  live  ; 

Hide  but  thy  face,  their  comforts  fly  ; 
They  gather  what  thy  seasons  give  ; 
Take  Thou  away  their  breath,  they  die: 
Send  forth  thy  Spirit  from  above, 
And  all  is  life  again,  and  love. 

Joy  in  his  works  Jehovah  takes, 

Yet  to  destruction  they  return : 
He  looks  upon  the  earth,  it  quakes ; 

Touches  the  mountains,  and  they  burn : 
—-Thou,  God  !  for  ever  art  the  same ; 
I  AM  is  thine  unchanging  name. 


SONGS  OF 


PSALM  CVIL— No.  1. 

THANK  and  praise  Jehovah's  name, 
For  his  mercies,  firm  and  sure, 

From  eternity  the  same, 
To  eternity  endure. 

Let  the  ransom'd  thus  rejoice, 
Gather'd  out  of  every  land ; 

As  the  people  of  his  choice, 

Pluck'd  from  the  destrojrer's  hand. 

In  the  wilderness  astray, 

Hither,  thither,  while  they  roam, 
Hungry,  fainting  by  the  way, 

Far  from  refuge,  shelter,  home  :— 

Then  unto  the  Lord  they  cry, 
He  inclines  a  gracious  ear, 

Sends  deliverance  from  on  high, 
Rescues  them  from  all  their  fear 

To  a  pleasant  land  He  brings, 
Where  the  vine  and  olive  grow, 

Where  from  flowery  hills  the  springs 
Through  luxuriant  valleys  flow. 

Oh  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord, 
For  his  goodness  to  their  race; 

For  the  wonders  of  his  word, 
And  the  riches  of  his  grace  ! 


PSALM  CVIL— No.  2. 

THEY  that  mourn  in  dungeon  gloom, 

Bound  in  iron  and  despair, 
Sentenced  to  a  heavier  doom 

Than  the  pangs  they  suffer  there ,— 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


Foes  and  rebels  once  to  God, 
They  disdain'd  his  high  control; 

Now  they  feel  his  fiery  rod 

Striking  terrors  through  their  soul. 

Wrung  with  agony,  they  fall 
To  the  dust,  and,  gazing  round, 

Call  for  help  ; — in  vain  they  call, 
Help,  nor  hope,  nor  friend  are  found. 

Then  unto  the  Lord  they  cry  ; 

He  inclines  a  gracious  ear, 
Sends  deliverance  from  on  high, 

Rescues  them  from  all  their  fear. 

He  restores  their  forfeit  breath, 
Breaks  in  twain  the  gates  of  brass, 

From  the  bands  and  grasp  of  death, 
Forth  to  liberty  they  pass. 

Oh  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord, 
For  his  goodness  to  their  race ; 

For  the  wonders  of  his  word, 
And  the  riches  of  his  grace  1 


PSALM  CVIL— No.  3. 

FOOLS,  for  their  transgression,  see 
Sharp  disease  their  youth  consume, 

And  their  beauty,  like  a  tree, 
Withering  o'er  an  early  tomb. 

Food  is  loathsome  to  their  taste, 
And  the  eye  revolts  from  light ; 

All  their  joys  to  ruin  haste, 
As  the  sunset  into  night. 

Then  unto  the  Lord  f.hey  cry ; 
He  inclines  a  grac.'vius  ear, 


SONGS    OF    2ION. 


Sends  deliverance  from  on  high, 
Rescues  them  from  all  their  fear. 

He  with  health  renews  their  frame, 
Lengthens  out  their  number1  d  days ; 

Let  them  glorify  his  name 
With  the  sacrifice  of  praise. 

O  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord, 
For  his  goodness  to  their  race ; 

For  the  wonders  of  his  word, 
And  the  riches  of  his  grace. 


PSALM  CVIL— No.  4. 

THEY  that  toil  upon  the  deep, 
And,  in  vessels  light  and  frail, 

O'er  the  mighty  waters  sweep 
With  the  billow  and  the  gale, — 

Mark  what  wonders  God  performs, 
When  He  speaks,  and  unconlined, 

Rush  to  battle  all  his  storms 
In  the  chariots  of  the  wind. 

Up  to  heaven  their  bark  is  whirl'd 
On  the  mountain  of  the  wave ; 

Down  as  suddenly  His  hurl'd 
To  th*  abysses  of  the  grave. 

To  and  fro  they  reel,  they  roll, 

As  intoxicate  with  wine  ; 
Terrors  paralyze  their  soul, 

Helm  they  quit,  and  hope  resign. 

Then  unto  the  Lord  they  cry  ; 

He  inclines  a  gracious  ear, 
Sends  deliverance  from  on  high, 

Rescues  them  from  all  their  fear. 


SONGS    OF   ZION 


Calm  and  smooth  the  surges  flow, 
And,  where  deadly  lightning  ran, 

God's  own  reconciling  bow 
lyietes  the  ocean -with  a  span. 

O  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord, 
For  his  goodness  to  their  race  ; 

For  the  wonders  of  his  word, 
And  the  riches  of  his  grace. 


PSALM  CVIL— No.  5. 

LET  the  elders  praise  the  Lord, 
Him  let  all  the  people  praise, 

When  they  meet  with  one  accord 
In  his  courts,  on  holy  days. 

God  for  sin  will  vengeance  take, 
Smite  the  earth  with  sore  distress, 

And  a  fruitful  region  make 
As  the  howling  wilderness. 

But  when  mercy  stays  his  hand, 
Famine,  plague,  and  death  depart; 

Yea,  the  rock,  at  his  command, 
Pours  a  river  from  its  heart. 

There  the  hungry  dwell  in  peace, 
Cities  build,  and  plough  the  ground, 

While  their  flocks  and  herds  increase, 
And  their  corn  and  wine  abound 

Should  they  yet  rebel, — his  arm 
Lays  their  pride  again  in  dust: 

But  the  poor  he  shields  from  harm, 
And  in  Him  the  righteous  trust. 

Whoso  Avisely  marks  his  will, 
Thus  evolving  bliss  from  wo, 

Shall,  redeem'd  from  every  ill, 
All  his  loving-kindness  know. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


PSALM  CXIII. 

SERVANTS  of  God  !  in  joyful  lays 
Sing  ye  the  Lord  Jehovah's  praise ; 
His  glorious  name  let  all  adore, 
From  age  to  age,  for  evermore. 

Blest  be  that  name,  supremely  blest, 
From  the  sun's  rising  to  its  rest ; 
Above  the,  heavens  his  power  is  known, 
Through  all  the  earth  his  goodness  shown. 

Who  is  like  God  ? — so  great,  so  high, 
He  bows  Himself  to  view  the  sky, 
And  yet,  with  condescending  grace, 
Looks  down  upon  the  human  race. 

He  hears  the  uncomplaining  rnoan 
Of  those  who  sit  and  weep  alone  ; 
He  lifts  the  mourner  from  the  dust, 
And  saves  the  poor  in  him  that  trust. 

Servants  of  God  !  in  joyful  lays 
Sing  ye  the  Lord  Jehovah's  praise; 
His  saving  name  let  all  adore, 
From  age  to  age,  for  evermore. 


PSALM  CXVI. 

I  LOVE  the  Lord  ; — He  lent  an  ear 

When  I  for  help  implored ; 
Ho  rescued  me  from  all  my  fear; 

Therefore  I  love  the  Lord. 

Bound  hand  and  foot  with  chains  of  sin, 
Death  dragg'd  me  for  his  prey ; 

The  pit  was  moved  to  take  me  in ; 
All  hope  was  far  away. 


SONGS   OF   ZION. 


I  cried,  in  agony  of  mind, 

"  Lord  !  I  beseech  Thee,  save :" 

He  heard  rne; — Death  his  prey  resign'd 
And  Mercy  shut  the  grave. 

Return,  my  soul,  unto  thy  rest, 

From  God  no  longer  roam ; 
His  hand  hath  bountifully  blest, 

His  goodness  call'd  thee  home. 

What  shall  I  render  unto  Thee, 

My  Saviour  in  distress, 
For  all  thy  benefits  to  me, 

So  great  and  numberless  ?    ' 

This  will  I  do,  for  thy  love's  sake, 
And  thus  thy  power  proclaim ; 

The  sacramental  cup  I'll  take, 
And  call  upon  thy  name. 

Thou  God  of  covenanted  grace, 
Hear  and  record  my  vow,   • 

While  in  thy  courts  I  seek  thy.  face. 
And  at  thine  altar  bow : — 

Henceforth  to. Thee  myself  I  give ; 

With  single  heart  and  eye, 
To  walk  before  Thee  while  I  live, 

And  bless  Thee  when  I  die. 


PSALM  CXVII. 

ALL  ye  Gentiles,  praise  the  Lord , 
All  ye  lands,  your  voices  raise  : 

Heaven  and  earth,  with  loud  accord, 
Praise  the  Lord,  for  ever  praise ! 

For  his  truth  and  mercy  stand, 
Past,  and  present,  and  to  be 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


Like  the  years  of  his  right  hand, 
Like  his  own  eternity. 

Praise  Him,  ye  who  know  his  love, 
Praise  Him  from  the  depths  beneath. 

Praise  Him  in  the  heights  above ; 
Praise  your  Maker,  all  that  breathe ! 


PSALM  CXXI. 

ENCOMPASS'D  with  ten  thousand  ills, 

Press'd  by  pursuing  foes, 
I  lift  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills, 

Fro^  whence  salvation  flows. 

My  help  is  from  the  Lord,  who  made 
And  governs  earth  and  sky  ; 

I  look  to  his  almighty  aid, 
And  ever-watching  eye. 

— He  who  thy  soul  in  safety  keeps 
Shall  drive  destruction  hence  ; 

The  Lord  thy  keeper  never  sleeps ; 
The  Lord  is  thy  defence. 

The  sun,  with  his  afflictive  light, 
Shall  harm  thee  not  by  day  ; 

Nor  thee  the  moon  molest  by  night 
Along  thy  tranquil  way. 

Thee  shall  the  Lord  preserve  from  sin, 

And  comfort  in  distress ; 
Thy  going  out  and  coming  in, 

The  Lord  thy  God  shall  bless. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


PSALM  CXXII. 

GLAD  was  my  heart  to  hear 

My  old  companions  say, 
Come — in  the  house  of  God  appear, 

For  'tis  an  holy  day. 

Our  willing  feet  shall  stand 

Within  the  temple  door, 
While  young  and  old,  in  many  a  band, 

Shall  throng  the  sacred  floor. 

Thither  the  tribes  repair, 
Where  all  are  wont  to  meet, 

And,  joyful  in  the  house  of  prayer, 
Bend  at  the  mercy  seat. 

Pray  for  Jerusalem, 

The  city  of  our  God  ; 
The  Lord  from  heaven  be  kind  to  tnem 

That  love  the  dear  abode. 

Within  these  walls  may  peace 

And  harmony  be  found ; 
Zion  !  in  all  thy  palaces, 

Prosperity  abound ! 

For  friends  and  brethren  dear, 
Our  prayer  shall  never  cease ; 

Oft  as  they  meet  for  worship  here, 
God  send  his  people  peace  ! 


PSALM  CXXIV. 

THE  Lord  is  on  our  side, 
His  people  now  may  say ; 

The  Lord  is  on  our  side, — or  we 
Had  fallen  a  sudden  prey 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


Sin,  Satan,  Death,  and  Hell, 

Like  fire,  against  us  rose ; 
Then  had  the  flames  consumed  us  quick, 

But  God  repell'd  our  foes. 

Like  water  they  return'd, 

When  wildest  tempests  rave; 
Then  had  the  floods  gone  o'er  our  head. 

But  God  was  there  to  save. 

From  jeopardy  redeem'd, 

As  from  the  lion's  wrath, 
Mercy  and  truth  uphold  our  life, 

And  safety  guards  our  path. 

Our  soul  escaped  the  toils  ; 

As  from  the  fowler's  snare, 
The  bird,  with  disentangled  wings, 

Flits  through  the  boundless  ail. 

Our  help  is  from  the  Lord ; 

In  Him  we  will  confide, 
Who  stretch'd  the  heavens,  who  form'd  the  earth : 

— The  Lord  is  on  our  side. 


PSALM  CXXV. 

WHO  make  the  Lord  of  Hosts  their  tower, 

Shall  like  Mount  Zion  be. 
Immovable  by  mortal  power, 

Built  on  eternity. 

As  round  about  Jerusalem 

The  guardian  mountains  stand, 

So  shall  the  Lord  encompass  them 
Who  hold  by  his  right  hand. 

The  rod  of  wickedness  shall  ne'er 

Against  the  just  prevail, 
Lest  innocence  should  find  a  snare, 

And  tempted  virtue  fail. 


»00  SONGS    OF    ZION. 


Do  good,  O  Lord  !  do  good  to  those 
Who  cleave  to  Thee  in  heart, 

Who  on  thy  truth  alone  repose, 
Nor  from  thy  law  depart. 

While  rebel  souls,  who  turn  aside, 
Thine  anger  shall  destroy, 

Do  Thou  in  peace  thy  people  guide 
To  thine  eternal  joy. 


PSALM  CXXVI. 

WHEN  God  from  sin's  captivity 
Sets  his  afflicted  people  free, 
Lost  in  amaze,  their  mercies  seem 
The  transient  raptures  of  a  dream. 

But  soon  their  ransom'd  souls  rejoice, 
And  mirth  and  music  swell  their  voice, 
Till  foes  confess,  nor  dare  condemn, 
"  The  Lord  hath  done  great  things  for  them.' 

They  catch  the  strain  and  answer  thus, 
"  The  Lord  hath  done  great  things  for  us  ; 
Whence  gladness  fills  our  hearts,  and  songs, 
Sweet  and  spontaneous,  wake  our  tongues  " 

Turn  our  captivity,  O  Lord  ! 
As  southern  rivers,  at  thy  word, 
Bound  from  their  channels,  and  restore 
Plenty,  where  all  was  waste  before. 

Who  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy  ; 
Naught  shall  the  precious  seed  destroy, 
Nor  long  the  weeping  exiles  roam, 
But  bring  their  sheaves  rejoicing  home 


SONGS    OF    ZION.  1« 


PSALM  CXXX. 

OUT  of  the  depths  of  wo 

To  Thee,  O  Lord  !  I  cry  ; 
Darkness  surrounds  me,  but  I  know 

That  Thou  art  ever  nigh. 

Then  hearken  to  my  voice, 

Give  ear  to  my  complaint ; 
Thou  bidst  the  mourning  soul  rejoice, 

Thou  comfortest  the  faint. 

I  cast  my  hope  on  Thee, 

Thou  canst,  Thou  wilt  forgive; 
•VVert  Thou  to  mark  iniquity, 

Who  in  Thy  sight  could  live  ? 

Humbly  on  Thee  I  wait, 

Confessing  all  my  sin  ; 
Lord  !  I  am  knocking  at  thy  gate ; 

Open,  and  take  me  in ! 

Like  them,  whose  longing  eyes 

Watch,  till  the  morning  star 
(Though  late,  and  seen  through  tempests)  nse. 

Heaven's  portals  to  unbar : 

Like  them  I  watch  and  pray, 

And,  though  it  tarry  long, 
Catch  the  first  gleam  of  welcome  day 

Then  burst  into  a  song. 

Glory  to  God  above ! 

The  waters  soon  will  cease  ; 
For,  lo  !  the  swift  returning  dove 

Brings  home  the  sign  of  peace. 

Though  storms  his  face  obscure, 

And  dangers  threaten  loud, 
Jehovah's  covenant  is  sure, 

His  bow  is  in  the  cloud. 


10S  SONGS    OF   ZIOX. 


PSALM  cxxxi. 

LORD  !  for  ever  at  thy  side 
Let  my  place  and  portion  be ; 

Strip  me  of  my  robe  of  pride, 
Clothe  me  with  humib'ty. 

Meekly  may  my  soul  receive 
All  thy  Spirit  hath  reveal'd ; 

Thou  hast  spoken, — I  believe, 

Though  the  prophecy  were  seal'd. 

Quiet  as  a  weaned  child, 

Weaned  from  the  mother's  breast ; 
By  no  subtilty  beguiled, 

On  thy  faithful  word  I  rest. 

Saints !  rejoicing  evermore, 
In  the  Lord  Jehovah  trust ; 

Him  in  all  his  ways  adore, 

Wise,  and  wonderful,  and  just. 


PSALM  CXXXIL— No.  1. 

GOD  in  his  temple  let  us  meet, 

Low  on  our  knees  before  Him  bend  ; 

Here  hath  He  fix'd  his  mercy-seat, 
Here  on  his  Sabbath  we  attend. 

Arise  into  thy  resting-place, 

Thou,  and  thine  ark  of  strength,  O  Lord ! 
Shine  through  the  veil,  we  seek  thy  face ; 

Speak,  for  we  hearken  to  thy  word. 

With  righteousness  thy  priests  array ; 

Joyful  thy  chosen  people  be ; 
Let  those  who  teach  and  those  who  pray» 

Let  all — be  holiness  to  Thee  ! 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


PSALM  CXXXII.— No.  2. 

LORD  !  for  thy  servant  David's  sake, 

Perform  thine  oath  to  David's  Son  ; — 
Thy  truth  Thou  never  wilt  forsake  ; — 

Look  on  thine  own  Anointed  One  ! 
The  Lord  in  faithfulness  hath  sworn 

His  throne  for  ever  to  maintain ; 
From  realm  to  realm,  the  sceptre  borne 

Shall  stretch  o'er  earth  Messiah's  reign. 

Zion,  my  chosen  hill  of  old, 

My  rest,  my  dwelling,  my  delight, 

With  loving-kindness  I  uphold, 
Her  walls  are  ever  in  my  sight. 

I  satisfy  her  poor  with  bread, 

Her  tables  with  abundance  bless, 
Joy  on  her  sons  and  daughters  shed, 

And  clothe  her  priests  with  righteousness 
There  David's  horn  shall  bud  and  bloom, 

The  branch  of  glory  and  renown  ; 
His  foes  my  vengeance  shall  consume  ; 

Him  with  eternal  years  I  crown. 


PSALM  CXXXIII. 

How  beautiful  the  sight 

Of  brethren  who  agree 
In  friendship  to  unite, 

And  bonds  of  charity  ! 
'Tis  like  the  precious  ointment,  shed 
O'er  all  his  robes,  from  Aaron's  head. 

'Tis  like  the  dews  that  fill 

The  cups  of  Hermon's  flowers; 

Or  Zion's  fruitful  hih\ 

Bright  with  the  drops  of  showers. 


IM  SONGS    OF    ZION. 

When  mingling  odours  breathe  around, 
And  glory  rests  on  ail  the  ground. 

For  there  the  Lord  commands 
Blessings,  a  boundless  store, 

From  his  unsparing  hands  ; 
Yea,  life  for  evermore ; 

Thrice  happy  they  who  meet  above 

To  spend  eternity  in  love ! 


PSALM  CXXXIV. 

BLESS  ye  the  Lord  with  solemn  rite, 
In  hymns  extol  his  name, 

Ye  who,  within  his  house  by  night, 
Watch  round  the  altar's  flame. 

Lift  up  your  hands  amid  the  place 
Where  burns  the  sacred  sign,  ' 

And  pray,  that  thus  Jehovah's  face 
O'er  all  the  earth  may  shine. 

From  Zion,  from  his  holy  hill, 
The  Lord  our  Maker  send 

The  perfect  knowledge  of  his  will, 
Salvation  without  end ! 


PSALM  CXXXVII. 

WHERE  Babylon's  broad  rivers  roll, 
In  exile  we  sat  down  to  weep, 

For  thoughts  of  Zion  o'er  our  soul 
Came,  like  departed  joys,  in  sleep, 

Whose  forms  to  sad  remembrance  rise. 

Though  fled  for  ever  from  our  eyes 


SONGS    OF    ZION.  l» 


Our  harps  upon  the  willows  hung, 

Where,  worn  with  toil,  our  limbs  reclined ; 

The  chords,  untuned  and  trembling,  rung 
With  mournful  music  on  the  wind ; 

While  foes,  insulting  o'er  our  wrongs, 

Cried, — "  Sing  us  one  of  Zion's  songs." 

How  can  we  sing  the  songs  we  love, 
Far  from  our  own  delightful  land  ? 

— If  I  prefer  thee  not  above 

My  chiefest  joy,  may  this  right  hand, 

Jerusalem !  forget  its  skill, 

My  tongue  be  dumb,  my  pulse  be  still ! 


PSALM  CXXXVIII. 

THEE  will  I  praise,  O  Lord  !  in  light, 
Where  seraphim  surround  thy  throne ; 

With  heart  and  soul,  with  mind  and  might 
Thee  will  I  worship,  Thee  alone. 

I  bow  toward  thy  holy  place  ; 

For  Thou,  in  mercy  still  the  same, 
Hast  magnified  thy  word  of  grace 

O'er  ail  the  wonders  of  thy  name. 

In  peril,  when  I  cried  to  Thee, 

How  did  thy  strength  renew  my  soul ! 

Kings  and  their  realms  might  bend  the  knee, 
Could  I  to  man  reveal  the  whole. 

Thou,  Lord  !  above  all  height  art  high, 
Yet  with  the  lowly  wilt  Thou  dwell ; 

The  proud  far  off,  thy  jealous  eye 
Shall  mark,  and  with  a  look  repel.' 

Though  in  the  depth  of  trouble  thrown. 
With  grief  I  shall  not  always  strive , 

Thou  wilt  thy  suffering  servant  own, 
And  Thou  the  contrite  heart  revive. 


100  SONGS   OF    ZION. 


Thy  purpose  then  in  me  fulfil ; 

Forsake  me  not,  for  I  am  thine ; 
Perfect  in  me  thine  utmost  will ; 

— Whate'er  it  be,  that  will  be  mine ! 


PSALM  CXXXIX. 

SEARCHER  of  hearts  !  to  Thee  are  known 
The  inmost  secrets  of  my  breast ; 

At  home,  abroad,  in  crowds,  alone, 
Thou  mark'st  my  rising  and  my  rest, 

My  thoughts  far  off,  through  every  maze, 

Source,  stream,  and  issue, — all  my  ways. 

No  word  that  from  my  mouth  proceeds, 
Evil  or  good,  escapes  thine  ear ; 

Witness  Thou  art  to  all  my  deeds, 
Before,  behind,  for  ever  near  : 

Such  knowledge  is  for  me  too  high ; 

I  live  but  in  my  Maker's  eye. 

How  from  thy  presence  should  I  go, 
Or  whither  from  thy  Spirit  flee, 

Since  all  above,  around,  below, 
Exist  in  thine  immensity? 

— If  up  to  heaven  I  take  my  way, 

I  meet  Thee  in  eternal  day. 

If  in  the  grave  I  make  my  bed 

With  worms  and  dust,  lo !  Thou  art  there ; 
If,  on  the  wings  of  morning  sped, 

Beyond  the  ocean  I  repair, 
I  feel  thine  all-controlling  will, 
And  thy  right  hand  upholds  me  still. 

"Let  darkness  hide  me,"  if  I  say, 
Darkness  can  no  concealment  be ; 


SONGS   OF   ZION. 


Night,  on  thy  rising,  shines  like  day, 

Darkness  and  light  are  one  with  Thee  ; 
For  Thou  mine  embryo-form  didst  view 
Ere  her  own  babe  my  mother  knew. 

In  me  thy  workmanship  display'd, 

A  miracle  of  power  I  stand  ; 
Fearfully,  wonderfully  made, 

And  framed  in  secret  by  thy  hand  ; 
I  lived,  ere  into  being  brought, 
Through  thine  eternity  of  thought. 

How  precious  are  thy  thoughts  of  peace, 
O  God,  to  me  !  how  great  the  sum  ! 

New  every  morn,  they  never  cease  ; 

They  were,  they  are,  and  yet  shall  come, 

In  number  and  in  compass  more 

Than  ocean's  sand,  or  ocean's  shore. 

Search  me,  O  God!  and  know  my  heart, 
Try  me,  my  secret  soul  survey, 

And  warn  thy  servant  to  depart 
From  every  false  and  evil  way  ; 

So  shall  thy  truth  my  guidance  be 

To  life  and  immortality. 


PSALM  CXLI. 

LORD  !  let  my  prayer  like  incense  rise. 
And  when  I  lift  my  hands  to  Thee, 

As  on  the  evening  sacrifice, 

Look  down  from  heaven,  well-pleased,  on  me 

Set  Thou  a  watch  to  keep  my  tongue, 

Let  not  my  heart  to  sin  incline  ; 
Save  me  from  men  who  practise  wrong, 

Let  me  not  share  their  mirth  and  wine. 


108  SONGS    OF    ZION. 


But  let  the  righteous,  when  I  stray, 

Smite  me  in  love  ; — his  strokes  are  kind ; 

His  mild  reproofs,  like  oil,  allay 

The  wounds  they  make,  and  heal  the  mind. 

Mine  eyes  are  unto  Thee,  my  God ! 

Behold  me  humbled  in  the  dust ; 
I  kiss  the  hand  that  wields  the  rod, 

I  own  thy  chastisements  are  just. 

But  oh  !  redeem  me  from  the  snares 

With  which  the  world  surrounds  my  feet, 

— Its  riches,  vanities,  and  cares, 
Its  love,  its  hatred,  its  deceit. 


PSALM  CXLII. 

I  CRIED  unto  the  Lord  most  just, 

Most  merciful  in  prayer ; 
I  cried  unto  Him  from  the  dust, 

I  told  Him  my  despair. 
When  sunk  my  soul  within  me, — then 

Thou  knew'st  the  path  I  chose ; 
Unharm'd  I  pass'd  the  spoiler's  den, 

I  walk'd  through  ambush'd  foes. 

I  look'd  for  friends, — there  was  not  one 

In  sorrow  to  condole ; 
I  look'd  for  refuge, — there  was  none ; 

None  cared  for  my  soul. 

I  cried  unto  the  Lord ; — I  said, — 

Thou  art  my  refuge ;  Thou, 
My  portion  ; — hasten  to  mine  aid  ; 

Hear  and  deliver  now. 
Now,  from  the  dungeon,  from  the  grave. 

Exalt  thy  suppliant's  head ; 
Thy  voice  is  freedom  to  the  slave, 

Revival  to  the  dead. 


SONGS   OF    ZION.  1M 


PSALM  CXLIII. 

HEAR  me,  O  Lord  !  in  my  distress, 
Hear  me  in  truth  and  righteousness ; 
For,  at  thy  bar  of  judgment  tried, 
None  living  can  be  justified. 

Lord  !  I  have  foes  without,  within, 
The  world,  the  flesh,  indwelling  sin, 
Life's  daily  ills,  temptation's  power, 
And  Satan  roaring  to  devour. 

These,  these  my  fainting  soul  surround, 
My  strength  is  smitten  to  the  ground ; 
Like  those  long  dead,  beneath  their  weight 
Crush'd  is  my  heart  and  desolate. 

Yet,  in  the  gloom  of  silent  thought, 
I  call  to  mind  what  God  hath  wrought, 
Th^'  wonders  in  the  days  of  old, 
Thy  mercies  great  and  manifold. 

Ah!  then  to  Thee  I  stretch  my  hands, 
Like  failing  streams  through  desert-sands; 
I  thirst  for  Thee,  as  harvest  plains 
Parch'd  by  the  summer  thirst  for  rains. 

O !  let  me  not  thus  hopeless  lie, 
Like  one  condemn'd  at  morn  to  die, 
But  with  the  morning  may  I  see 
Thy  loving-kindness  visit  me. 

Teach  me  thy  will,  subdue  my  own; 
Thou  art  my  God,  and  Thou  alone ; 
By  thy  good  Spirit  guide  me  still, 
Safe  from  all  foes,  to  Zion's  hill. 

Release  my  soul  from  trouble,  Lord ! 
Quicken  and  keep  me  by  thy  word : 
May  all  its  promises  be  mine  ! 
Be  Thou  my  portion — I  am  thine. 

10 


110  SONGS   OF    ZION. 


PSALM  CXLV. 

THE  Lord  is  gracious  to  forgive, 
And  slow  to  let  his  anger  move ; 
The  Lord  is  good  to  all  that  live, 
And  all  his  tender  mercy  prove. 

Thy  works,  O  God !  thy  praise  proclaim ; 
The  saints  thy  wond'rous  deeds  shall  sing, 
Extol  thy  power,  and  to  thy  name 
Homage  from  every  nation  bring. 

Glorious  in  majesty  art  Thou  ; 
Thy  throne  for  ever  shall  endure  ; 
Angels  before  thy  footstool  bow, 
Yet  dost  Thou  not  despise  the  poor. 

The  Lord  upholdeth  them  that  fall; 
He  raiseth  men  of  low  degree ; 
O  God !  our  health,  the  eyes  of  all, 
Of  all  the  living,  wait  on  Thee. 

Thou  openest  thine  exhaustless  store, 
And  rainest  food  on  every  land ; 
The  dumb  creation  Thee  adore, 
And  eat  their  portion  from  thy  hand. 

Man,  most  indebted,  most  ingrate, 
Man  only,  is  a  rebel  here  ; 
Teach  him  to  know  Thee,  ere  too  late  ; 
Teach  him  to  love  Thee,  and  to  fear. 


PSALM  CXLVI. 

PRAISE  ye  the  Lord  from  pole  to  pole ! 
Praise  Thou  the  Lord,  my  soul,  my  soul ! 
Long  as  I  live,  my  voice  shall  raise, 
My  pulse  repeat,  the  song  of  praise. 


SONGS   OF    ZION.  Ill 


In  men,  in  princes,  put  no  trust ; 
Their  breath  goes  forth,  they  turn  to  dust ; 
Then,  fleeting  like  the  flower  of  grass, 
Perish  their  thoughts,  their  glories  pass. 

Thrice  happy  he  whose  heart  can  say 
"  The  God  of  Jacob  is  my  stay ; 
The  Lord  of  Hosts  my  help  shall  be, 
Who  made  the  heaven,  the  earth,  the  sea." 

The  Lord  avenges  the  opprest, 
He  sends  the  wandering  stranger  rest ; 
The  Lord  unbinds  the  prisoner's  chain, 
He  sets  the  fallen  up  again. 

The  Lord  restores  the  blind  to  sight, 
Gives  strength  to  them  that  have  no  might ; 
The  Lord  relieves,  in  their  distress, 
The  widow  and  the  fatherless. 

The  Lord  supplies  the  poor  with  food, 
He  loves  to  do  the  righteous  good ; 
But  for  the  wicked,  in  his  wrath, 
He  turns  destruction  on  their  path. 

The  Lord  shall  reign  for  evermore, 
Thy  King,  O  Zion  ! — Him  adore ; 
Let  unborn  generations  raise 
To  God,  thy  God,  the  song  of  praise ! 


PSALM  CXLVIII. 

HERALDS  of  creation !  cry, 
— Praise  the  Lord,  the  Lord  most  high! 
Heaven  and  earth  !  obey  the  call, 
Praise  the  Lord,  the  Lord  of  all. 

For  He  spake,  and  forth  from  night 
Sprang  the  universe  to  light ; 
He  commanded, — Nature  heard, 
And  stood  fast  upon  his  word 


11*  SONGS    OF   ZION. 


Praise  Him,  all  ye  hosts  above ! 
Spirits  perfected  in  love  ; 
Sun  and  moon  !  your  voices  raise, 
Sing,  ye  stars  !  your  Maker's  praise. 

Earth  !  from  all  thy  depths  below, 
Ocean's  hallelujahs  flow ; 
Lightning,  vapour,  wind,  and  storm, 
Hail  and  snow,  his  will  perform. 

Vales  and  mountains  !  burst  in  song ; 
Rivers  !  roll  with  praise  along; 
Clap  your  hands,  ye  trees  !  and  hail 
God,  who  comes  in  every  gale. 

Birds  !  on  wings  of  rapture,  soar, 
Warble  at  his  temple-door ; 
Joyful  sounds,  from  herds  and  flocks, 
Echo  back,  ye  caves  and  rocks ! 

Kings  !  your  Sovereign  serve  with  awe , 
Judges  !  own  his  righteous  law  ; 
Princes  !  worship  Him  with  fear ; 
Bow  the  knee,  all  people  here  ! 

Let  his  truth  by  babes  be  told, 
And  his  wonders  by  the  old ; 
Youths  and  maidens  !  in  your  prime, 
Learn  the  lays  of  heaven  betime. 

High  above  all  height  his  throne, 
Excellent  his  name  alone  ; 
Him  let  all  his  works  confess ! 
Hin  let  every  being  bless ' 


NARRATIVES. 


FAREWELL  TO  WAR: 

BEING  A   PROLOGUE  TO 

"  LORD  FALKLAND'S  DREAM,"  AND 
•'  ARNOLD  DE  WINKELRIED,  OR  THE  PATRIOT'S  PASS- 
WORD." 

PEACE  to  the  trumpet ! — no  more  shall  my  breath 

Sound  an  alarm  in  the  dull  ear  of  death, 

Nor  startle  to  life  from  the  truce  of  the  tomb 

The  relics  of  heroes,  to  combat  till  doom. 

Let  Marathon  sleep  to  the  sound  of  the  sea, 

Let  Hannibal's  spectre  haunt  Cannae  for  me ; 

Let  Cressy  and  Agincourt  tremble  with  corn, 

And  Waterloo  blush  with  the  beauty  of  morn ; 

I  turn  not  the  furrow  for  helmets  and  shields, 

Nor  sow  dragon's  teeth  in  their  old  fallow  fields ; 

I  will  not,  as  bards  have  been  wont,  since  th«  flood, 

With  the  river  of  song  swell  the  river  of  blood, 

— The  blood  of  the  valiant,  that  fell  in  all  climes, 

— The  song  of  the  gifted,  that  hallow'd  all  crimes, 

— All  crimes  in  the  war-fiend  incarnate  in  one  ; 

War,  withering  the  earth — war,  eclipsing  the  sun, 

Despoiling,  destroying,  since  discord  began, 

God's  works  and  God's  mercies, — man's  labours  and  mart 

Yet  war  have  I  loved,  and  of  war  have  I  sung, 
With  my  heart  in  my  hand  and  my  soul  on  my  tongue; 
With  all  the  affections  that  render  life  dtar, 
With  the  throbbings  of  hope  and  the  flutterings  of  fear, 
— Of  hope,  that  the  sword  of  the  brave  might  prevail, 
— Of  fear,  lest  the  arm  of  the  righteous  should  fail. 

But  what  was  the  war  that  extorted  my  praise  ? 
What  bottles  wen-  fought  in  my  chivalrous  lays  ? 

10*  "» 


114  NARRATIVES. 


— The  war  against  darkness  contending  with  light ; 

The  war  against  violence  trampling  down  rignt ; 

— The  battles  of  patriots,  with  banner  unfurl'd, 

To  guard  a  child's  cradle  against  an  arm'd  world ; 

Of  peasants  that  peopled  their  ancestors'  graves, 

Lest  their  ancestors'  homes  should  be  peopled  by  slaves. 

I  served,  too,  in  wars  and  campaigns  of  the  mind ; 

My  pen  was  the  sword,  which  I  drew  for  mankind ; 

— In  war  against  tyranny  throned  in  the  West, 

— Campaigns  to  enfranchise  the  negro  oppress'd ; 

In  war  against  war,  on  whatever  pretence, 

For  glory,  dominion,  revenge  or  defence, 

While  murder  and  perfidy,  rapine  and  lust, 

Laid  provinces  desolate,  cities  in  dust. 

Yes,  war  against  war  was  ever  my  pride ; 
My  youth  and  my  manhood  in  waging  it  died, 
And  age,  with  its  weakness,  its  wounds,  and  its  scars, 
Still  finds  my  free  spirit  unquench'd  as  the  stars, 
And  he  who  would  bend  it  to  Avar  must  first  bind 
The  waves  of  the  ocean,  the  wings  of  the  wind ; 
For  I  call  it  not  war,  which  war's  counsels  o'erthrows, 
I  call  it  not  war  which  gives  nations  repose ; 
'Tis  judgment  brought  down  on  themselves  by  the  proud, 
Like  lightning,  by  fools,  from  an  innocent  cloud. 

I  war  against  all  war ; — nor,  till  my  pulse  cease, 
Will  I  throw  down  my  weapons,  because  I  love  peace, 
Because  I  love  liberty,  execrate  strife, 
And  dread,  most  of  all  deaths,  that  slow  death  call'd  life, 
Dragg'd  on  by  a  vassal,  in  purple  or  chains, 
The  breath  of  whose  nostrils,  the  blood  in  whose  veins, 
He  calls  not  his  own,  nor  holds  from  his  God, 
While  it  hangs  on  a  king's  or  a  sycophant's  nod. 

Around  the  mute  trumpet, — no  longer  to  breathe 
War-clangours,  my  latest  war-chaplets  I  wreathe, 
Then  hang  them  aloof  on  the  time-stricken  oak, 
And  thus,  in  its  shadow,  heaven's  blessing  invoke  :— 


LORD  FALKLAND'S  DREAM.  n» 


**  Lord  God  !  since  the  African's  bondage  is  o'er, 
And  war  in  our  borders  is  heard  of  no  more, 
May  never,  while  Britain  adores  Thee,  again 
The  malice  of  fiends  or  the  madness  of  men, 
Break  the  peace  of  our  land,  and  by  villanous  wrong 
Find  a  field  for  a  hero,  a  hero  for  song." 

163  i. 


LORD  FALKLAND'S  DREAM 

A.  D.  1643. 

"lo  vo  gridando,  Pare!  pace!  pace!" 

I'LTBABCA,  Cutr.uiie  affli  principi  d'ltalta, 

Kfortazione  alia  Pace,  A.  U.  1344.* 

"In  this  unhappy  battle  (of  Newbury)  wag  slnin  the  Lord  Viscount  Falkland, 
a  person  of  sucli  prodigious  parts  of  lenrning  and  knowledge,  of  that  inimitable 
sweetness  and  delight  of  converenlion,  of  so  flowing  and  obliging  a  humanity 
and  goodness  to  mankind,  and  of  that  primitive  simplicity  and  integrity  of  life, 
that  if  then-  wen*  no  other  brund  upon  this  odious  and  accursed  war,  than  that 
single  loss,  it  must  be  most  infamous  and  execrable  to  all  posterity. 
'Turpe  mori,  post  te,  solo  non  posse  dolore.'  " 
***** 

"From  the  entrance  into  that  unnatural  war,  his  natural  cheerfulness  and 
vivacity  grew  clouded;  and  a  kind  of  sadness  and  dejection  M«|I-  upon  him, 
which  he  had  never  been  used  to.  After  the  King's  return 

to  Oxford,  and  the  furious  resolution  of  the  two  Houses  not  (o  admit  any  treaty 
for  pence,  those  indispositions  which  had  before  touched  him  grew  into  a  perfect 
habit  of  uncheerfulness  ;  ami  he  who  had  been  so  exactly  easy  ;md  affihle  to  all 
men,  III. n  Int  face  and  countenance  was  alwtiyn  present,  and  vacant  to  his  com- 
pany, and  held  any  cloudness  or  leu*  pleasantness  of  the  visage  a  kind  of  rude- 
ness or  incivility,  became  on  a  sudden  less  communicable,  and  thence  very  sad, 
pale,  and  exceedingly  affected  with  the  spleen.  In  his  clothe*  and  habit,  which 
he  minded  b>-f»re  with  more  neatness,  and  industry,  and  expense,  thin  is  usual 
to  so  gre.it  a  soul,  he  was  not  only  incurious,  but  too  negligent ;  and  in  his  recen-  ' 
tion  «f  suitor*,  and  Ihe  necessary  and  caxiinl  addresses  to  his  place,  (being  then 
Secretary  of  st-ite  to  King  Charles,)  so  quick,  and  shirp,  and  severe,  that  there 
wanted  not  some  men  (strangers  to  his  nature  and  dis|>osilioii)  who  believed 
him  proud  and  imperious,  from  which  no  mortal  man  was  ever  more  free." 

•  *  *  •  • 

14  When  there  wa«  any  overture  or  hope  of  peace  he  would  b«  more  erect  and 
vigorous,  and  exceedingly  sollciluus  lo  press  any  thing  which  he  thought  mi^lit 


•"I  fo  exclaiming,  Peace !  peace!  peace !"— From  PSTTMAKCH'I  Ca*:o*t  U 
Uu  Primu*  ifftulr,  •nttlltd  "  jl*  >.jAvr(<i(i0*  to  Pnut." 


110  NARRATIVES. 


promote  it ;  and,  sitting  among  his  friends,  often,  after  a  deep  silence,  and  fre- 
quent sighs,  would,  with  a  shrill  and  sad  accent,  ingeminate  the  word  '  Peace! 
peace!'  and  would  profess  that  the  very  agony  of  the  war,  and  the  view  of  the 
calamities  and  desolation  the  kingdom  did  and  must  endure,  took  his  sleep  from 
him,  and  would  shortly  break  his  heart." 

CLARENDON'S  History,  vol.  ii.  part  L 

WAR,  civil  war,  was  raging  like  a  flood, 

England  lay  weltering  in  her  children's  blood ; 

Brother  with  brother  waged  unnatural  strife, 

Sever'd  were  all  the  charities  of  life  : 

Two  passions — virtues  they  assumed  to  be, — 

Virtues  they  were, — romantic  loyalty, 

And  stern,  unyielding  patriotism,  possess'd 

Divided  empire  in  the  nation's  breast ; 

As  though  two  hearts  might  in  one  body  reign, 

And  urge  conflicting  streams  from  vein  to  vein. 

On  either  side  the  noblest  spirits  fought, 

And  highest  deeds  on  either  side  were  wrought: 

Hampden  in  battle  yesterday  hath  bled, 

Falkland  to-morrow  joins  the  immortal  dead  , 

The  one  for  freedom  perish'd — not  in  vain  ; 

The  other  falls — a  courtier  without  stain. 

'Twas  on  the  eve  of  Newbury's  doubtful  fight ; 
O'er  marshall'd  foes  came  down  the  peace  of  night, 
— Peace  which,  to  eyes  in  living  slumber  seal'd, 
The  mysteries  of  the  night  to  come  reveal'd, 
When  that  throng'd  plain,  now  warm  with  heaving  breath, 
Should  lie  in  cold,  fix'd  apathy  of  death. 
Falkland  from  court  and  camp  had  glid  away, 
With  Chaucer's  shade*  through  Speenham's  woods  to  stray. 
And  pour  in  solitude,  without  control, 
Through  the  dun  gloom,  the  anguish  of  his  soul. 
— Falkland,  the  plume  of  England's  chivalry, 
The  just,  the  brave,  the  generous,  and  the  free ! 
— Nay,  task  not  poetry  to  tell  his  praise, 
Twine  but  a  wreath  of  transitory  bays, 

*  The  estate  of  Speenhamland,  near  Newbnry,  Berks,  is  said  to  have  been  the 
property  and  residence  of  Chaucer. 


LORD  FALKLAND'S  DREAM.  »rr 

Tc  crown  him,  as  he  lives,  from  age  to  age, 

In  Clarendon's  imperishable  page  ; 

Look  there  upon  the  very  man,  and  see 

What  Falkland  was, — what  thou  thyself  shouldst  be; 

Patriot  and  loyalist,  who  veiPd  to  none, 

He  loved  his  country  and  his  king  in  one, 

And  could  no  more,  in  his  affections,  part 

That  wedded  pair,  than  pluck  out  half  his  heart: 

Hence  every  wound  that  each  the  other  gave, 

Brought  their  best  servant  nearer  to  the  grave. 

Thither  he  hasten'd,  withering  in  his  prime, 

The  worm  of  sorrow  wrought  the  work  of  lime  ; 

And  England's  woes  had  sunk  him  with  their  weight, 

Had  not  the  swifter  sword  fort-closed  his  date. 

In  sighs  for  her  his  spirit  was  exhaled, 
He  wept  for  her  till  power  of  weeping  faiPd  ; 
Pale,  wasted,  nerveless,  absent, — he  appear'd 
To  haunt  the  scenes  which  once  his  presence  cheer'd ; 
As  though  some  vampire  from  its  cerements  crept, 
And  drain'd  health's  fountain  nightly  while  he  slept; 
But  he  slept  not ; — sleep  from  his  eyelids  fled, 
All  restless  as  the  ocean's  foam  his  bed  : 
The  very  agony  of  war, — the  guilt 
Of  blood  by  kindred  blood  in  hatred  spilt, 
Crush'd  heart  and  hope ;  till  foundering,  ternpest-toss'd, 
From  gulfs  to  deeper  gulfs,  himself  he  lost. 
Yet  when  he  hoard  the  drum  to  battle  beat, 
First  at  the  onset,  latest  in  retreat, 
Eager  to  brave  rebellion  to  the  face, 
Or  hunt  out  peril  in  its  hiding-place, 
Falkland  was  slow  to  harm  th'  ignoble  crowd, 
He  sought  to  raise  the  fall'n,  strike  down  the  proud, 
Nor  sti>od  there  one  for  parliament  or  throne 
More  choice  of  meaner  lives,  more  reckless  of  his  own. 

Oft  from  his  lips  a  shrill,  sad  moan  would  start, 
And  cold  misgivings  creep  around  his  heart, 
When  he  beheld  the  plague  of  war  increase, 
And  but  one  word  found  utterance — "Peace!  peace!  peace!" 


118  NARRATIVES. 

That  eve  he  wander'd  in  his  wayward  mood, 
Through  thoughts  more  wildering  than  the  maze  of  wood, 
Where,  when  the  moon-beam  flitted  o'er  his  face, 
He  seem'd  th'  unquiet  spectre  of  the  place : 
Rank  thorns  and  briers,  the  rose  and  Avoodbine's  bloom 
Perplex'd  his  path  through  checker'd  light  and  gloom: 
Himself  insensible  of  gloom  or  light, 
Darkness  within  made  all  around  him  night ; 
Till  the  green  beauty  of  a  little  glade, 
That  open'd  up  to  heaven,  his  footsteps  stay'd : 
Eye,  breath,  and  pulse,  the  sweet  enchantment  frU 
His  heart  with  tenderness  began  to  melt ; 
Trembling,  he  lean'd  against  a  Druid  oak, 
Whose  boughs  bare  token  of  the  thunder-stroke, 
With  root  unshaken,  and  With  bole  unbroke  : 
t  Then  thus,  while  hope  almost  forgot  despair, 
Breathed  his  soul's  burden  on  the  tranquil  air : — 

"  O,  Britain  !  Britain  !  to  thyself  be  true ; 
Land  which  the  Roman  never  could  subdue  : 
Oft  though  he  pass'd  thy  sons  beneath  the  yoke, 
As  oft  thy  sons  the  spears  they  bow'd  to  broke ; 
Others  with  home-wrought  chains  he  proudly  bound. 
His  own  too  weak  to  fetter  thee  he  found : 
Though  garrison'd  by  legions,  legions  fail'd 
To  quell  thy  spirit, — thy  spirit  again  prevail'd. 
By  him  abandon'd,  island-martyr  !  doom'd 
To  prove  the  fires  of  ages  unconsumed, 
Though  Saxon,  Dane,  Norwegian,  Gallic  hordes, 
In  dire  succession,  gave  thee  laws  and  lords, 
Conquer'd  themselves  by  peace, — in  every  field, 
The  victor  to  the  vanquished  lost  his  shield. 
To  win  my  country,  to  usurp  her  throne, 
Canute  and  William  must  forsake  their  own ; 
Invading  rivers  thus  roll  back  the  sea, 
Then  lose  themselves  in  its  immensity. 

"  But  'twas  thine  own  distractions  lent  them  aid, 
Enslaved  by  strangers,  because  self-betray'd  ; 


LORD    FALKLAND  S   DREAM. 


Still  self-distracted  ; — yet  should  foreign  foe 
Land  notv,  another  spirit  thy  sons  would  show  ; 
King,  nobles,  parliament,  and  people, — all, 
Like  the  Red  Sea's  returning  waves,  would  fall, 
And  with  one  burst  o'erwhelm  the  mightiest  host. 
— Would  such  a  foe  this  hour  were  on  thy'coast ! 

"  How  oft,  O  Albion  !  since  those  twilight  times, 
Have  wars  intestine  laid  thee  waste  with  crimes ! 
Tweed's  borderers  were  hereditary  foes, 
Nor  can  one  crown  even  now  their  feuds  compose ; 
Thy  peasantry  were  serfs  to  vassal  lords, 
Yoked  with  their  oxen,  tether'd  to  their  swords : 
Round  their  cross-banners  kings  thy  bowmen  ranged, 
Till  York  and  Lancaster  their  roses  changed. 
Those  days,  thank  Heaven !  those  evil  days  are  past, 
Yet  wilt  thou  fall  by  suicide  at  last  ? 
O  England  !  England  !  from  such  frenzy  cease, 
And  on  thyself  have  mercy, — Peace  !  peace  !  peace  !" 

"  Who  talks  of  Peace  ? — sweet  Peace  is  in  her  grave: 
Save  a  lone  widow, — from  her  offspring  save  !" 
Exclaim'd  a  voice,  scarce  earthly,  in  his  ear, 
Withering  his  nerves  with  unaccustom'd  fear; 
His  hand  wr.2  on  his  sword,  but  ere  he  drew 
The  starting  blade,  a  suppliant  cross'd  his  view  ; 
Forth  from  the  forest  rush'd  a  female  form, 
Like  the  moon's  irrio^e  hurrying  through  the  storm; 
Down  in  a  moment  at  his  feet,  aghast, 
Lock'd  to  his  smiling  knees,  herself  she  cast. 
Rent  were  her  garments,  and  her  hfair  unbound, 
All  fleck'd  with  blood  from  many  an  unstaunch'd  woun«l. 
Inflicted  by  the  very  hands  that  press'd, 
In  rose-lipp'd  infancy,  her  yearning  breast ; 
And  ever  and  anon  she  look'd  behind, 
As  though  pursuing  voices  swell'd  the  wind  ; 
Then  shriek'd  insanely, — "Peace  is  in  her  grave  ! 
Save  a  lost  mother, — from  her  children  save  !" 
Wan  with  heart-sickness,  ready  to  expire, 
Her  cheeks  were  ashes,  but  her  eye  was  fire, 


190  NARRATIVES. 


— Fire  fix'd.  as  through  the  horror  of  the  mine, 

Sparks  from  the  diamond's  still  water  shine ; 

So  where  the  cloud  of  death  o'ershadowing  hung, 

Light  in  her  eye  from  depth  of  darkness  sprung, 

Dazzling  his  sight,  and  kindling  such  a  flame 

Within  his  breast  as  nature  could  not  name  ; 

He  knew  her  not ; — that  face  he  never  saw  ; 

He  loved  her  not, — yet  love,  chastised  by  awe  • 

And  reverence,  with  mysterious  terror  mix'd, 

His  looks  on  hers  in  fascination  fix'd.  [at  length: 

"Who  ? — whence  ? — what  wouldst  thou  ?"  Falkland  cried 
His  voice  inspired  her ;  up  she  rose  in  strength, 
Gather'd  her  robe  and  spread  her  locks,  to  hide 
The  unsightly  wounds  ;  then  fervently  replied  : — 
"  Behold  a  matron,  widow'd  and  forlorn, 
Yet  many  a  noble  son  to  me  was  born, 
Flowers  of  my  youth,  and  morning-stars  of  joy  ! 
— They  quarrell'd,  fought,  and  slew  my  youngest  boy ; 
Youngest  and  best  beloved  ! — I  rush'd  between, 
My  darling  from  the  fratricides  to  screen  ; 
He  perish'd ;  from  my  arms  he  dropp'd  in  death ; 
I  felt  him  kiss  my  feet  with  his  last  breath ; 
The  swords  that  smote  him,  flashing  round  ray  head, 
Pierced  me, — the  murderers  saw  my  blood,  aad  fled, — 
Their  parent's  blood  ;  and  she,  uncou^ous  why 
She  sought  thee  out,  came  here — came  here  to  die. 
'Tis  a  strange  tale  ; — 'tis  true, — and  yet  'tis  not ; 
Follow  me,  Falkland,  thou  shalt  see  the  spot, — 
See  my  slain  boy, — my  life's  own  life,  the  pride 
And  hope  of  his  poor  mother, — but  he  died  ; 
He  died, — and  she  did  not ; — how  can  it  be? 
But  I'm  immortal ! — Falkland,  come  and  see." 

She  spake  ;  while  Falkland,  more  and  more  amazed, 
On  her  ineffable  demeanour  gazed  ; 
So  vitally  her  form  and  features  changed, 
He  thought  his  own  clear  senses  were  deranged ; 
Outraged  and  desolate  she  seem'd  no  more ; 
He  follow'd  ;  stately,  she  advanced  before ; 


LORD  FALKLAND'S  DREAM. 


The  thickets,  at  her  touch,  gave  way,  and  made 

A  wake  of  moonlight  through  their  deepest  shade. 

Anon  he  found  himself  on  Newbury's  plain, 

Walking  among  the  dying  and  the  slain; 

At  every  step  in  blood  his  foot  was  dyed, 

He  heard  expiring  groans  on  every  side. 

The  battle-thunder  had  roll'd  by  ;  the  smoke 

Was  vanish'd ;  calm  and  bright  the  morning  broke, 

While  such  estrangement  o'er  his  mind  was  cast, 

As  though  another  day  and  night  had  past. 

There,  midst  the  nameless  crowd,  oft  met  his  view 

An  eye,  a  countenance,  which  Falkland  knew, 

But  knew  not  him  ; — that  eye  to  ice  congeal'd, 

That  countenance  by  death's  blank  signet  seal'd  : 

Rebel  and  royalist  alike  laid  low, 

Where  friend  embraced  not  friend,  but  foe  grasp'd  foe 

Falkland  had  tears  for  each,  and  patriot  sighs, 

For  both  were  Britons  in  that  Briton's  eyes. 

Silent  before  him  trod  the  lofty  dame, 
Breathlessly  looking  round  her,  till  they  came 
Where  shatter'd  fences  mark'd  a  narrow  road : 
Tracing  that  line,  with  prostrate  corpses  strow'd, 
She  turn'd  their  faces  upward,  one  by  one, 
Till,  suddenly,  the  newly-risen  sun 
Shot  through  the  level  air  a  ruddy  glow, 
That  fell  upon  a  visage  white  as  snow ; 
Then  with  a  groan  of  agony,  so  wild, 
As  if  the  soul  within  her  spake, — "My  child  ! 
My  child  !"  she  said,  and  pointing,  shrinking  back, 
Made  way  for  Falkland. — Pron*-  along  the  track 
(A  sight  at  once  that  warm'd  and  thrill'd  with  awe'j 
The  perfect  image  of  himself  he  saw, 
Shape,  feature,  limb,  the  arms,  the  dress  he  wore, 
And  one  wide,  honourable  wound  before. 
Then  flash'd  the  fire  of  pride  from  Falkland's  eye, 
"  'Tis  glorious  for  our  country  thus  to  die ; 
*Tis  sweet  to  leave  an  everlasting  name, 
A  heritage  of  clear  and  virtuous  fame." 

11 


122  NARRATIVES. 


While  thoughts  like  these  his  maddening  brain  possess'd, 

And  lightning  pulses  thunder'd  througTi  his  breast ; 

While  Falkland  living  stood  o'er  Falkland  dead, 

Fresh  at  his  feet  the  corse's  death-wound  bled, 

The  eye  met  his  with  inexpressive  glance, 

Like  the  sleep-walker's  in  benumbing  trance, 

And  o'er  the  countenance  of  rigid  clay,  ' 

The  flush  of  life  came  quick,  then  pass'd  away ; 

A  momentary  pang  convulsed  the  chest, 

As  though  the  heart,  awaking  from  unrest, 

Broke  with  the  effort ; — all  agaia  was  still ; 

Chill  through  his  tingling  veins  the  blood  ran,  chill. 

"Can  this,"  he  sigh'd,  "be  virtuous  fame  and  clear  * 

Ah  !  what  a  field  of  fratricide  is  here  ! 

Perish  who  may, — 'tis  England,  England  falls ; 

Triumph  who  will, — his  vanquish'd  country  calls, 

As  I  have  done, — as  I  will  never  cease, 

While  I  have  breath  and  being — Peace  !  peace  !  peace  !" 

Here  stoop'd  the  matron  o'er  the  dead  man's  face, 
Kiss'd  the  cold  lips,  then  caught  in  her  embrace  ' 
The  living  Falkland  ; — as  he  turn'd  to  speak, 
He  felt  his  mother's  tears  upon  his  cheek  : 
He  knew  her,  own'd  her,  and  at  once  forgot 
All  but  her  earliest  love,  and  his  first  lot.  ». 

Her  looks,  her  tones,  her  sweet  caresses,  then 
Brought  infancy  and  fairy  land  again, 
— Youth  in  the  morn  and  maidenhood  of  life, 
Ere  fortune  curst  his  father's  house  with  strife, 
And  in  an  age  when  nature's  laws  were  changed, 
Mother  and  son,  as  heaven  from  earth,  estranged.* 

"  Oh,   Falkland !    Falkland !"    when   her   voice   found 

speech, 

The  lady  cried  ;  then  took  a  hand  of  each, 
And  joining  clasp'd  them  in  her  own, — "  My  son  ! 
Behold  thyself,  for  thou  and  he  are  one." 

*  There  had  been  unhappy  divisions  in  the  family,  both  with  respect  to  an 
Inheritance  which  Falkland  hr Id  from  his  grandfather,  and  the  religion  of  his 
mother,  who  was  a  Human  Catholic. 


LORD    FALKLAND  S    DREAM.  1M 

The  dead  man's  hand  grasp'd  Falkland's  with  such  force, 
He  fell  transform'd  into  that  very  corse, 
As  though  the  wound  which  slew  his  counterpart 
That  moment  sent  the  death-shot  through  his  heart. 

When  from  that  ecstasy  he  oped  his  eyes, 
He  thought  his  soul  translated  to  the  skies ; 
The  battle-field  had  disappear'd  ;  the  scene 
Had  changed  to  beauty,  silent  and  serene ;  « 

City  nor  country  look'd  as  heretofore ; 
A  hundred  years  and  half  a  hundred  more 
Had  travell'd  o'er  him  while  entranced  he  lay; 
England  appear'd  as  England  at  this  day, 
In  arts,  arms,  commerce,  enterprise,  and  power, 
Beyond  the  dreams  of  his  devoutest  hour, 
When,  with  prophetic  call,  the  patriot  brought 
Ages  to  come  before  creative  thought. 

With  doubt,  fear,  joy,  he  look'd  above,  beneath, 
Felt  his  own  pulse,  inhaled,  and  tried  to  breathe  • 
Next  raised  an  arm,  advanced  a  foot,  then  broke 
Silence,  yet  only  in  a  whisper  spoke  : — 
"  My  mother  !  are  we  risen  from  the  tomb  ? 
Is  this  the  morning  of  the  day  of  doom  ?" 
No  answer  came  ;  his  mother  was  not  there, 
B.ut,  tall  and  beautiful  beyond  compare, 
One,  who  might  well  have  been  an  angel's  bride, 
Were  angels  mortal,  glitler'd  at  his  side. 
It  seern'd  some  mighty  wizard  had  unseal'd 
The  book  of  fate,  and  in  that  hour  reveal'd 
The  object  of  a  passion  all  his  own, 
— A  lady  uncxistent,  or  unknown, 
Whose  saintly  image,  in  his  heart  enshrined, 
Was  but  an  emanation  of  his  mind, 
The  ideal  form  of  glory,  goodness,  truth, 
Imbodied  now  in  all  the  flush  of  youth, 
Yet  not  too  exquisite  to  look  upon  : 
He  kneePd  to  kiss  her  hand, — the  spell  was  gone. 
Even  while  his  brain  the  dear  illusion  cross'd. 
Her  form  of  soft  humanity  was  lost. 


1)4  NARRATIVES. 


— Then,  nymph  nor  goddess,  of  poetic  birth; 

E'er  graced  Jove's  heaven,  or  slept' on  classic  earth, 

Like  her  in  majesty ; — the  stars  came  down 

To  wreathe  her  forehead  with  a  fadeless  crown  ; 

The  sky  enrobed  her  with  ethereal  blue, 

And  girt  with  orient  clouds  of  many  a  hue ; 

The  sun,  enamour'd  of  that  loveliest  sight, 

So  yeil'd  his  face  with  her  benigner  light, 

That  woods  and  mountains,  valleys,  rocks,  and  streams, 

Were  only  visible  in  her  pure  beams. 

While  Falkland,  pale  and  trembling  with  surprise, 
Admired  the  change,  her  stature  seem'd  to  rise, 
Till  from  the  ground,  on  which  no  shadow  spread, 
To  the  arch'd  firmament  she  rear'd  her  head ; 
And  in  th'  horizon's  infinite  expanse, 
He  saw  the  British  islands  at  a  glance, 
With  intervening  and  encircling  seas, 
O'er  which,  from  every  port,  with  every  breeze, 
Exulting  ships  were  sailing  to  all  realms, 
Whence  vessels  came,  with  strangers  at  their  helms, 
On  Albion's  shores  all  climes  rejoiced  to  meet, 
And  pour  their  native  treasures  at  her  feet. 

Then  Falkland,  in  that  glorious  dame,  descried 
Not  a  dead  parent,  nor  a  phantom  bride, 
But  her  who  ruled  his  soul,  in  either  part, 
At  once  the  spouse  and  mother  of  his  heart, 
— His  country,  thus  personified,  in  grace 
And  grandeur  unconceived,  before  his  face. 
Then  spake  a  voice,  as  from  the  primal  sphere, 
Heard  by  his  spirit  rather  than  his  ear : — 

"  Henceforth  let  civil  war  for  ever  cease ; 
Henceforth,  my  sons  and  daughters,  dwell  in  peace: 
Amidst  the  ocean-waves  that  never  rest, 
My  lovely  Isle,  be  thou  the  halcyon's  nest ; 
Amidst  the  nations,  evermore  in  arms, 
Be  th'ou  a  haven,  safe  from  all  alarms ; 
Alone  immovable  'midst  ruins  stand, 
Th'  unfailing  hope  of  every  failing  land  * 


THE  PATRIOT'S  PASS-WORD.  vu 

To  thee  for  refuge  kings  enthroned  repair ; 
Slaves  flock  to  breathe  the  freedom  of  thine  air. 
Hither,  from  chains  and  yokes,  let  exiles  bend 
Their  footsteps  ;  here  the  friendless  find  a  friend ; 
The  country  of  mankind  shall  Britain  be, 
The  home  of  peace,  the  whole  world's  sanctuary." 

The  pageant  fled  ;  'tAvas  but  a  dream  :  he  woke, 
And  found  himself  beneath  the  Druid-oak, 
Where  first  the  phantom  on  his  vigil  broke. 

Around  him  gleam'd  the  morn's  reviving  light; 
But  distant  trumpets  summon'd  to  the  fight, 
And  Falkland  slept  among  the  slain  at  night. 

1831. 


THE  PATRIOT'S  PASS-WORD. 

On  the  achlevi-menl  of  Arnold  de  Winkclried,  at  the  battle  of  Seinpach,  in  which 
the  Swiss  insurgents  secured  the  freedom  of  their  country,  against  the  power 
of  Austria,  in  the  fourteenth  century. 

"  MAKE  way  for  liberty  !"  he  cried, 
Made  way  for  liberty,  and  died. 

In  arms  the  Austrian  phalanx  stood, 
A  living  wall,  a  human  wood  ; 
A  wall, — where  every  conscious  stone 
Seem'd  to  its  kindred  thousands  grown, 
A  rampart  all  assaults  to  bear, 
Till  time  to  dust  their  frames  should  wear : 
A  wood, — like  that  enchanted  grove* 
In  which  with  fiends  Rinaldo  strove, 
Where  every  silent  tree  possess'd 
A  spirit  imprison'd  in  its  breast, 
Which  the  first  stroke  of  corning  strife 
Might  startle  into  hideous  life : 
So  still,  so  dense,  the  Austrians  stood, 
A  living  wall,  a  human  wood. 

*  Otruialtmme  Ubtratii,  o*nto  xvilt. 


158  NARRATIVES. 


Impregnable  their  front  appears, 
All-horrent  with  projected  spears, 
Whose  polish'd  points  before  them  shine, 
From  flank  to  flank,  one  brilliant  line, 
Bright  as  the  breakers'  splendours  run 
Along  the  billows  to  the  sun. 

Opposed  to  these,  a  hovering  band 
Contended  for  their  father-land  ; 
Peasants,  whose  new-found  strength  had  broke 
From  manly  necks  th'  ignoble  yoke, 
And  beat  their  fetters  into  swords, 
On  equal  terms  to  fight  their  lords, 
And  what  insurgent  rage  had  gain'd, 
In  many  a  mortal  fray  maintain'd. 
MarshalPd  once  more,  at  freedom's  call 
They  came  to  conquer  or  to  fall, 
Where  he  who  conquer'd,  he  who  fell, 
Was  deem'd  a  dead  or  living  Tell ; 
Such  virtue  had  that  patriot  breathed, 
So  to  the  soil  his  soul  bequeathed, 
That  wheresoe'er  his  arrows  flew, 
Heroes  in  his  own  likeness  grew, 
And  warriors  sprang  from  every  sod 
Which  his  awakening  footstep  trod. 

And  now  the  work  of  life  and  death 
Hung  on  the  passing  of  a  breath ; 
The  fire  of  conflict  burn'd  within, 
The  battle  trembled  to  begin  ; 
Yet  while  the  Austrians  held  their  ground, 
Point  for  assault  was  nowhere  found  ; 
Where'er  th'  impatient  Switzers  gazed, 
Th'  unbroken  line  of  lances  blazed  ; 
That  line  'twere  suicide  to  meet, 
And  perish  at  their  tyrants'  feet : 
How  could  they  rest  within  their  graves, 
To  leave  their  homes  the  haunts  of  slaves  ? 
Would  they  not  feel  their  children  tread, 
With  clankmg  chains,  above  their  head  ? 


THE    PATRIOT  S    PASS-WORD. 


It  must  not  be  ;  this  day,  this  hour 
Annihilates  th'  invader's  power ; 
All  Switzerland  is  in  the  field, 
She  will  not  fly,  she  cannot  yield, 
She  must  not  fall ;  her  better  fate 
Here  gives  her  an  immortal  date. 
Few  were  the  numbers  she  could  boast, 
Yet  every  freeman  was  a  ho'st, 
And  felt  as  'twere  a  secret  known, 
That  one  should  turn  the  scale  alone, 
While  each  unto  himself  was  he, 
On  whose  sole  arm  hung  victory. 

It  did  depend  on  one  indeed ; 
Behold  him, — Arnold  Winkelried  ; 
There  sounds  not  to  the  trump  of  fame 
The  echo  of  a  nobler  name. 
Unmark'd  he  stood  amidst  the  throng, 
In  rumination  deep  and  long, 
Till  you  might  see,  with  sudden  grace, 
The  very  thought  come  o'er  his  face, 
And  by  the  motion  of  his  form 
Anticipate  the  bursting  storm, 
And  by  th'  uplifting  of  his  brow 
Tell  where  the  bolt  would  strike,  and  how. 

But  'twas  no  sooner  thought  than  done, 
The  field  was  in  a  moment  won ; 
"  Make  way  for  liberty !"  he  cried, 
Then  ran,  with  arms  extended  wide, 
As  if  his  dearest  friend  to  clasp ; 
Ten  spears  he  swept  within  his  grasp  ; 
"  Make  way  for  liberty  !"  he  cried, 
Their  keen  points  cross'd  from  side  to  side  ; 
He  bow'd  amidst  them,  like  a  tree, 
And  thus  made  way  for  liberty. 

Swift  to  the  breach  his  comrades  fly, 
"Make  way  for  liberty  !"  they  cry, 
And  through  the  Austrian  phalanx  dart, 
As  rush'd  the  spears  through  Arnold's  heart, 


138  NARRATIVES. 


While,  instantaneous  as  his  fall, 
Rout,  ruin,  panic  seized  them  all ; 
An  earthquake  could  not  overthrow 
A  city  with  a  surer  blow. 

Thus  Switzerland  again  was  free  ; 
Thus  death  made  way  for  liberty. 

Redcar,  1827. 


THE  VOYAGE  OF  THE  BLIND. 


"  It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark, 
Built  in  th'  eclipse,  and  rigg'd  with  curses  dark." 

MILTON'S  Lycidas. 

THE  subject  of  the  following  poem  was  suggested  by  certain  well-authenticated 
facts,  published  at  Paris,  in  a  medical  journal,  some  years  ago ;  of  which  a  few 
particulars  may  be  given  here. 

"The  ship  Le  Rodeur,  Captain  B.,  of  two  hundred  tons  burden,  left  Havre  on 
the  21th  of  January,  1819,  for  the  coast  of  Africa,  and  reached  her  destination 
on  the  14th  of  March  following,  anchoring  at  Bonny,  on  the  river  Calabir.  The 
crew,  consisting  of  twenty-two  men,  enjoyed  good  health  during  the  outward 
voyage,  and  during  their  stay  at  Bonny,  where  they  continued  till  th.;  6th  of 
April.  They  had  observed  no  trace  of  ophthalmia  among  the  natives;  arU  it  was 
not  until  fifteen  days  after  they  had  set  sail  on  the  return  voyage,  and  the  ressel 
was  near  the  equator,  that  they  perceived  the  first  symptoms  of  this  frightful 
malady.  It  was  then  remarked,  that  the  negroes,  who,  to  the  number  »f  one 
hundred  and  sixty,  were  crowded  together  in  the  hold,  and  between  the  decks, 
had  contracted  a  considerable  redness  of  the  eyes,  which  spread  with  singu  ar 
rapidity.  No  great  attention  was  at  first  paid  to  these  symptoms,  which  wtre 
thought  to  be  caused  only  by  the  want  of  air  in  the  hold,  and  by  the  scarcity  of 
water,  which  had  already  begun  to  be  felt.  At  this  time  they  were  limited  to 
eight  ounces  of  water  a  day  for  each  person,  which  quantity  was  afterwards 
reduced  to  the  half  of  a  wine-glass.  By  the  advice  of  M.  Maugnan,  the  surgeon 
of  the  ship,  the  negroes,  who  had  hitherto  remained  shut  up  in  the  hold,  were 
brought  upon  deck  in  succession,  in  order  that  they  might  breathe  a  purer  air. 
But  it  became  necessary  to  abandon  this  expedient,  salutary  as  it  was,  because 
many  of  the  negroes,  affected  with  nostalgia,  (a  passionate  longing  to  return  to 
their  native  land.)  threw  themselves  into  the  sea,  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

"The  disease  which  had  spread  itself  so  rapidly  and  frightfully  among  the 
Africans,  soon  began  to  infect  all  on  board.  The  danger  also  was  greatly 
increased  by  a  malignant  dysentery  which  prevailed  at  the  time.  The  first  of 
the  crew  who  caught  it  was  a  sailor  who  slept  under  the  deck  near  the  grated 
hatch  which  communicated  with  the  hold.  The  next  day  a  landsman  was 
seized  with  ophthalmia;  and  in  three  days  more,  the  captain  and  the  whole 
ship's  company,  except  one  sailor,  who  remained  at  the  helm,  were  blinded  by 
the  disorder. 

"All  means  of  cure  which  the  surgeon  employed,  while  he  was  ab'e  to  act, 
proved  ineffectual.  The  sufferings  of  the  crew,  which  were  otherwise  intense, 


THE    VOYAGE    OF    THE    BLIND.  »»• 

« 

were  asgravated  l>y  apprehension  of  rf  volt  among  the.neuroes,  and  the  dread 
of  not  being  able  to  reach  the  West  Indies,  if  the  only  sailor  who  had  hitherto 
escaped  the  contagion,  and  on  whom  their  whole  hope  rested,  should  lose 
his  sight  like  the  rest.  This  calamity  had  actually  befallen  the  I.(on,  a  Spanish 
vessel  which  the  Rodeiir  met  on  her  passage,  and  the  whole  of  whose  crew, 
h  iving  become  blind,  were  under  the  necessity  of  altogether  abandoning  the 
direction  of  their  ship.  These  unhappy  creatures,  as  they  passed,  earnestly 
entreated  the  charitable  interference  of  the  seamen  of  the  Rodeur;  but  these, 
under  their  own  affliction,  could  neither  quit  their  vessel  to  go  on  board  the 
Leon,  nor  receive  the  crew  of  the  latter  into  the  Rodeur,  where,  on  account  of 
the  cargo  of  negroes,  there  was  scarcely  room  for  themselves.  The  vessels, 
therefore,  soon  parted  company,  mid  the  Leon  was  never  seen  or  heard  of  again, 
so  fir  as  could  be  traced  at  the  publication  of  this  narrative.  In  all  probability, 
then,  it  was  lost.  On  the  fate  of  tlii*  vessel  the  poem  is  founded. 

"The  Rodeur  reached  Guadaloupe  on  the  21st  of  June,  1819;  her  crew  being 
in  a  most  deplorable  condition.  Of  the  net-roes,  thiriy-seven  hud  become  per- 
fectly blind,  twelve  had  lost  each  an  eye,  and  fourteen  remained  otherwise 
blemished  by  th«  disease.  Of  the  crew,  twelve,  including  the  surgeon,  had 
entirely  lost  their  sight;  five  escaped  with  an  eye  each,  and  four  were  partially 
injured." 


PART    I. 


O'ER  Africa  the  morning  broke, 

And  many  a  negro-land  reveal'd, 
From  Europe's  eye  and  Europe's  yoke, 

In  nature's  inmost  heart  conceaPd  : 
Here  roll'd  the  Nile  his  glittering  train, 
From  Ethiopia  to  the  main ; 
And  Niger  there  uncoil'd  his  length, 
That  hides  his  fountain  arid  his  strength 

Among  the  realms  of  noon  ; 
Casting  away  their  robes  of  night, 
Forth  stood  in  nakedness  of  light, 

The  mountains  of  the  moon. 

Hush'd  were  the  bowlings  of  the  wild, 

The  h-opard  in  his  den  lay  prone  ; 
Man,  while  creation  round  him  smiled, 

Was  sad  or  savage,  man  alone ; 
— Down  in  the  dungeons  of  Algiers, 
The  Christian  captive  woke  in  tears ; 
CafTraria's  l.'an,  marauding  race 
ProwPd  forth  on  pillage  or  the  chase ; 


!»  NARRATIVES. 

i r : 

— In  Libyan  solitude, 
Th'  Arabian  horseman  scour'd  along ; 
— The  caravan's  obstreperous  throng, 

Their  dusty  march  pursued. 

But  wo  grew  frantic  in  the  west ; 

A  wily  rover  of  the  tide 
Had  mark'd  the  hour  of  Afric's  rest, 

To  snatch  her  children  from  her  side : 
At  early  dawn,  to  prospering  gales, 
The  eager  seamen  stretch  their  sails ; 
The  anchor  rises  from  its  sleep 
Beneath  the  rocking  of  the  deep ; 

Impatient  from  the  shore, 
A  vessel  steals  ; — she  steals  away, 
Mute  as  the  lion  with  his  prey, 

— A  human  prey  she  bore. 

Curst  was  her  trade  and  contraband, 

Therefore  that  keel,  by  guilty  stealth, 
Fled  with  the  darkness  from  the  strand, 

Laden  with  living  bales  of  wealth : 
Fair  to  the  eye  her  streamers  play'd 
With  undulating  light  and  shade  ; 
White  from  her  prow  the  gurgling  foam 
Flew  backward  tow'rds  the  negro's  home, 

Like  his  unheeded  sighs ; 
Sooner  that  melting  foam  shall  reach 
His  inland  home,  than  yonder  beach 

Again  salute  his  eyes. 

Tongue  hath  not  language  to  unfold 
The  secrets  of  the  space  between 
That  vessel's  flanks, — whose  dungeon-hold 

Hides  what  the  sun  hath  never  seen ; 
Three  hundred  writhing  prisoners  there 
Breathe  one  mephitic  blast  of  air 
From  lip  to  lip  ; — like  flame  supprest, 
It  bursts  from  every  tortured  breast, 


THE    VOYAGE    OF    THE    BLIND.  .  1SI 

With  dreary  groans  and  strong  ; 
Lock'd  side  to  side,  they  feel,  by  starts, 
The  beating  of  each  other's  hearts, 

— Their  breaking  too,  ere  long. 

Light  o'er  the  blue  untroubled  sea, 

Fancy  might  deem  that  vessel  held 
Her  voyage  to  eternity, 

By  one  unchanging  breeze  impell'd; 
• — Eternity  is  in  the  sky, 
Whose  span  of  distance  mocks  the  eye ; 
Eternity  upon  the  main, 
The  horizon  there  is  sought  in  vain ; 

Eternity  below 

Appears  in  heaven's  inverted  face  ; 
And  on,  through  everlasting  space, 

Th'  unbounded  billows  flow. 

Yet,  while  his  wandering  bark  career'd, 

The  master  knew,  with  stern  delight, 
That  full  for  port  her  helm  was  steer'd, 

With  aim  unerring,  day  and  night. 
— Pirate  !  that  port  thou  ne'er  shall  hail ; 
Thine  eye  in  search  of  it  shall  fail : 
But,  lo  !  thy  slaves  expire  beneath  ; 
Haste,  bring  the  wretches  forth  to  breathe : 

Brought  forth, — away  they  spring, 
And  headlong  in  the  whelming  tide, 
Rescued  from  thee,  their  sorrows  hide 

Beneath  the  halcyon's  wing. 

I 

PART  n. 

There  came  an  angel  of  eclipse 

Who  haunts  at  times  th'  Atlantic  flood, 

And  smites  with  blindness,  on  their  ships. 
The  captives  and  the  men  of  blood. 

— Here,  in  the  hold  the  blight  began 

From  eye  to  eye  contagion  ran ; 


NARRATIVES. 


Sight,  as  with  burning  brands,  was  quench'd ; 
None  from  the  fiery  trial  blench'd, 

But,  panting  for  release, 
They  call'd  on  death,  who,  close  behind, 
Brought  pestilence  to  lead  the  blind, 

From  agony  to  peace. 

The  two-fold  plague  no  power  could  check ; 

Unseen  its  withering  arrows  flew  ; 
It  walk'd  in  silence  on  the  deck, 

And  smote  from  stem  to  stern  the  crew : 
— As  glow-worms  dwindle  in  the  shade, 
As  lamps  in  charnel-houses  fade, 
From  every  orb,  with  vision  fired, 
In  flitting  sparks  the  light  retired ; 

The  sufferers  saw  it  go, 
And  o'er  the  ship,  the  sea,  the  skies, 
Pursued  it  with  their  failing  eyes, 

Till  all  was  black  below. 

A  murmur  swell'd  along  the  gale, 

All  rose,  and  held  their  breath  to  hear ; 
All  look'd,  but  none  could  spy  a  sail, 

Although  a  sail  was  near ; 
— "  Help  !  help  !"  our  beckoning  sailors  cried ; 
"  Help  !  help  !"  a  hundred  tongues  replied : 
Then  hideous  clamour  rent  the  air, 
Questions  and  answers  of  despair : 

Few  Avords  the  mystery  clear'd ; 
The  pest  had  found  that  second  bark, 
Where  every  eye  but  his  was  dark, 

Whose  hand  the  vessel  steer'd. 

He,  wild  with  panic,  turn'd  away, 

And  thence  his  shrieking  comrades  bore ; 

From  either  ship  the  winds  convey 

Farewells,  that  soon  are  heard  no  more  : 

— A  calm  of  horror  hush'd  the  waves  ; 

Behold  them  ! — merchant,  seamen,  slaves, 


THE    TOYAGE    OF    THE    BLIND.  1» 

The  blind,  the  dying,  and  the  dead ; 
All  help,  all  nope,  for  ever  fled ; 

Unseen,  yet  face  to  face ! 
Wo  past,  wo  present,  wo  to  come, 
Held  for  a  while  each  victim  dumb, 

— Impaled  upon  his  place. 

It  is  not  in  the  blood  of  man 

To  crouch  ingloriously  to  fate ; 
Nature  will  struggle  while  she  can ; 

Misfortune  makes  her  children  great ; 
The  head  which  lightning  hath  laid  low, 
Is  hallow'd  by  the  noble  blow : 
The  wretch  who  yields  a  felon's  breath, 
Emerges  from  the  cloud  of  death, 

A  spirit  on  the  storm  : 
But  virtue  perishing  unknown, 
Watch'd  by  the  eye  of  Heaven  alone, 

Is  earth's  least  earthly  form. 

What  were  the  scenes  on  board  that  bark  * 

The  tragedy  which  none  beheld, 
When  (as  the  deluge  bore  the  ark,, 

By  power  invisible  impell'd, 
The  keel  went  blindfold  through  the  surge, 
Where  stream  might  drift,  or  tempest  urge; 
— Plague,  famine,  thirst,  their  numbers  slew, 
And  frenzy  seized  the  hardier  few 

Who  yet  were  spared  to  try 
How  everlasting  are  the  pangs, 
When  life  upon  a  moment  hangs, 

And  death  stands  mocking  by. 

Imagination's  daring  glance 

May  pierce  that  vale  of  mystery, 
As  in  the  rapture  of  a  trance, 

Things  which  no  eye  hath  seen  to  see ; 
And  hear  by  fits  along  the  gales. 
Screams,  maniac-laughter,  hollow  wails : 

12 


IM  NARRATIVES. 


— They  stand,  they  lie,  above,  beneath, 
Groans  of  unpitied  anguish  breathe, 

Tears  unavailing  shed ; 
Each,  in  abstraction  of  despair, 
Seems  to  himself  a  hermit  there, 

Alive  among  the  doad. _ 

Yet  respite, — respite  from  his  woes, 

Even  here,  the  conscious  sufferer  feels; 
Worn  down  by  torture  to  repose, 

Slumber  the  vanish'd  world  reveals : 
—Ah  !  then  the  eyes,  extinct  in  night, 
Again  behold  the  blessed  light ; 
Ah !  then  the  frame  of  rack'd  disease 
Lays  its  delighted  limbs  at  ease ; 

Swift  to  his  own  dear  land. 
The  unfetter'd  slave  with  shouts  returns, 
Hard  by  his  dreaming  tyrant  burns 

At  sight  of  Cuba's  strand. 

To  blank  reality  they  wake, 

In  darkness  opens  every  eye : 
Peace  comes  ; — the  negro's  heart-strings  break 

To  him  'tis  more  than  life  to  die : 
— How  feels,  how  fares  the  man  of  blood  ? 
In  endless  exile  on  the  flood, 
Rapt,  as  though  fiends  his  vessel  steer'd, 
Things  which  he  once  believed  and  fear'd, 

— Then  scorn'd  as  idle  names, — 
Death,  judgment,  conscience,  hell  conspire, 
With  thronging  images  of  fire, 

To  light  up  guilt  in  flames. 

Who  cried  for  mercy  in  that  hour, 

And  found  it  on  the  desert  sea  ? 
Who  to  the  utmost  grasp  of  power 

Wrestled  with  life's  last  enemy  ? 
Who,  Marius-like,  defying  fate, 
(Marius  on  fallen  Carthage)  sate  * 


THE    VOYAGE    OF    THE    BLIND.  1» 

Who,  through  a  hurricane  of  fears, 
Clung  to  the  hopes  of  future  years  ? 

And  who,  with  heart  unquail'd, 
Look'd  from  time's  trembling  precipice 
Down  on  eternity's  abyss, 

Till  breath  and  footing  fail'd  ? 

Is  there  among  this  crew  not  one, 

One  whom  a  widow'd  mother  bare, — 
Who  mourns  far  off  her  only  son, 

And  pours  for  him  her  soul  in  prayer? 
Even  now,  when  o'er  his  soften'd  thought, 
Remembrance  of  her  love  is  brought, 
To  soothe  death's  agony,  and  dart 
A  throb  of  comfort  through  his  heart,— 

Even  now  a  mystic  knell 
Sounds  through  her  pulse  ; — she  lifts  her  eye. 
Sees  a  pale  spirit  passing  by, 

And  hears  his  voice,  "  farewell !" 

Mother  and  son  shall  meet  no  more  : 

— The  floating  tomb  of  its  own  dead, 
That  ship  shall  never  reach  a  shore  ; 

But,  far  from  track  of  seamen  led, 
The  sun  shall  watch  it,  day  by  day, 
Careering  on  its  lonely  way  ; 
Month  after  month,  the  moon  shine  pale 
On  falling  mast  and  riven  sail ; 

The  stars,  from  year  to  year, 
Mark  the  bulged  flanks,  and  sunken  deck, 
Till  not  a  ruin  of  the  wreck 

On  ocean's  face  appear. 


130  NARRATIVES. 


AN  EVERY-DAY  TALE. 

Written  for  a  benevolent  Society  in  the  metropolis,  »he  object  of  which  is  to 
relieve'poor  women  during  the  first  month  «f  their  widowhood,  in  preserve  what 
little  property  they  may  have  from  wreck  and  ruin,  in  a  season  of  embarrass- 
ment, when  kindness  and  good  counsel  are  especially  needed  ;  and,  so  far  as 
may  be  practicable,  to  assist  the  destitute  with  future  means  of  maintaining 
themselves  and  their  fatheiless  children. 

"  The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor." — GRAY. 

MINE  is  a  tale  of  every  day, 
Yet  turn  not  thou  thine  ear  away  ; 
For  'tis  the  bitterest  thought  of  all, 
The  worm-wood  added  to  the  gall, 
That  such  a  wreck  of  mortal  bliss, 
That  such  a  weight  of  wo  as  this, 
Is  no  strange  thing, — but,  strange  to  say ! 
The  tale,  the  truth  of  every  day. 

At  Mary's  birth,  her  mother  smiled 
Upon  her  first,  last,  only  child, 
And,  at  the  sight  of  that  young  flower, 
Forgot  the  anguish  of  her  hour ; 
Her  pains  return'd  ; — she  soon  forgot 
Love,  joy,  hope,  sorrow, — she  was  not. 

Her  partner  stood,  like  one  bereft 
Of  all, — not  all,  their  babe  was  left ; 
By  the  dead  mother's  side  it  slept, 
Slept  sweetly  ; — when  it  woke,  it  wept. 
"  Live,  Mary,  live,  and  I  will  be 
Father  and  mother  both  to  thee  !" 
The  mourner  cried,  and  while  he  spake, 
His  breaking  heart  forebore  to  break  ; 
Faith,  courage,  patience,  from  above, 
Flew  to  the  help  of  fainting  love. 
While  o'er  his  charge  that  parent  yeam'd, 
All  woman's  tenderness  he  learn'd, 
All  woman's  waking,  sleeping  care, 
— That  sleeps  not  to  her  babe, — her  prayer, 


AN    EVERY-DAY    TALE. 


Of  power  to  bring  upon  its  head, 
The  richest  blessings  heaven  can  shed  ; 
All  these  he  learn'd,  and  lived  to  say, 
"  My  strength  was  given  me  as  my  day." 

So  the  Red  Indian  of  those  woods, 
That  echo  to  Lake  Erie's  floods, 
Reft  of  his  consort  in  the  wild, 
Became  the  mother  of  his  child  ! 
Nature  (herself  a  mother)  saw 
His  grief,  and  loosed  her  kindliest  law: 
Warm  from  its  fount  life's  sin  am,  propell'd, 
His  breasts  with  sweet  nutrition  swell'd, 
At  whose  strange  springs,  his  infant  drew 
Milk,  as  the  rose-bud  drinks  the  dew. 

Mary  from  childhood  rose  to  youth, 
In  paths  of  innocence  and  truth ; 
— Train'd  by  her  parent,  from  her  birth, 
To  go  to  heaven  by  way  of  earth, 
She  was  to  him,  in  after-life, 
Both  as  a  daughter  and  a  wife. 

Meekness,  simplicity,  and  grace, 
Adorn'd  her  speech,  her  air,  her  face ; 
The  spirit,  through  its  earthly  mould, 
Broke,  as  the  lily's  leaves  unfold  ; 
Her  beauty  open'd  on  the  sight, 
As  a  star  trembles  into  light. 

Love  found  that  maiden  ;  love  will  find 
Way  to  the  coyest  maiden's  mind  ; 
Love  found  and  tried  her  many  a  year, 
With  hope  deferr'd,  and  boding  fear; 
To  the  world's  end  her  hero  stray'd ; 
Tempests  and  calms  his  bark  delay 'd  ; 
What  then  could  her  heart-sickness  soothe  ? 
"  The  course  of  true  love  ne'er  ran  smooth  1" 
Her  bosom  ached  with  drear  suspense, 
Till  sharper  trouble  drove  it  thence : 
Affliction  smote  her  father's  brain, 
And  he  became  a  child  again. 

1?* 


»|8  NARRATIVES. 


Ah !  then,  the  prayers,  the  pangs,  the  tears, 
He  breathed,  felt,  shed  on  her  young  years, 
That  duteous  daughter  well  repaid, 
Till  in  the  grave  she  saw  him  laid, 
Beneath  her  mother's  church-yard  stone  : 
— There  first  she  felt  herself  alone  ; 
But  while  she  gazed  on  that  cold  heap, 
Her  parents'  bed,  and  could  not  weep, 
A  still  small  whisper  seem'd  to  say, 
"  Strength  shall  be  given  thee  as  thy  day:" 
Then  rush'd  the  tears  to  her  relief; 
A  bow  was  in  the  cloud  of  grief. 

Her  wanderer  now,  from  clime  to  clime, 
Return'd,  unchanged  by  tide  or  time, 
True  as  the  morning  to  the  sun  ; 
— Mary  and  William  soon  were  one  ; 
And  never  rang  the  village  bells 
With  sweeter  falls  or  merrier  swells, 
Than  while  the  neighbours,  young  and  old, 
Stood  at  their  thresholds,  to  behold, 
And  bless  them,  till  they  reach'd  the  spot, 
Where  woodbines  girdled  Mary's  cot, 
Where  throstles,  perch'd  on  orchard  trees, 
Sang  to  the  hum  of  garden  bees : 
And  there — no  longer  forced  to  roam — 
William  found  all  the  world  at  home ; 
Yea,  more  than  all  the  world  beside, 
— A  warm,  kind  heart  to  his  allied. 

Twelve  years  of  humble  life  they  spent, 
With  food  and  raiment  well  content ; 
In  flower  of  youth  and  flush  of  health, 
They. envied  not  voluptuous  wealth; 
The  wealth  of  poverty  was  theirs, 
— Those  riches  without  wings  or  snares, 
Which  honest  hands,  by  daily  toil, 
May  dig  from  every  generous  soil. 
A  little  farm,  while  William  till'd, 
Mary  her  household  cares  fulfill'd ; 


AN    EVERY-DAY    TALE.  IM 

And  love,  joy,  peace,  with  guileless  mirth, 
Sate  round  the  table,  warm'd  their  hearth ; 
Whence  rose,  like  incense,  to  the  skies, 
Morning  and  evening  sacrifice, 
And  co'ntrite  spirits  found,  in  prayer, 
That  home  was  heaven,  for  God  was  there. 

Meanwhile  the  May-flowers  on  their  lands 
Were  yearly  pluck'd  by  younger  hands  ; 
New  comers  watch'd  the  swallows  float, 
And  mock'd  the  cuckoo's  double  note ; 
Till,  head  o'er  head,  in  slanting  line, 
They  stood, — a  progeny.of  nine, 
That  might  be  ten  ; — but  ere  that  day, 
The  father's  life  was  snatch'd  away ; 
Faint  from  the  field  one  night  he  came ; 
Fever  had  seized  his  sinewy  frame, 
And  .eft  the  strong  man,  when  it  pass'd, 
FraL  as  the  sere  leaf  in  the  blast ; 
A  long,  long  winter's  illness,  bow'd 
His  head  ; — spring-daisies  deck'd  his  shroud* 
Oh  !  'twas  a  bitter  day  for  all, 
The  husband's,  father's  funeral ; 
The  dead,  the  living,  and  the  unborn 
Met  there, — were  there  asunder  torn. 

Scarce  was  he  buried  out  of  sight, 
Ere  his  tenth  infant  sprang  to  light, 
And  Mary,  from  her  child-bed  throes, 
To  instant,  utter  ruin  rose ; 
Harvests  had  fail'd,  and  sickness  drain'd 
Her  frugal  stock-purse,  long  retain'd ; 
Rents,  debts,  and  taxes  all  fell  due, 
Claimants  were  loud,  resources  few, 
Small,  and  remote  ; — yet  lime  and  care 
Her  shatter'd  fortunes  might  repair, 
If  but  a  friend, — a  friend  in  need, — 
Such  friend  would  be  a  friend  indeed,— 
Wo'uld,  by  a  mite  of  succour  lent, 
Wrongs  irretrievable  prevent ! 


140  NARRATIVES. 


She  look'd  around  for  such  an  one, 

And  sigh'd  but  spake  not, — "Is  there  none?11 

— Oh  !  if  he  come  not  ere  an  hour, 

All  will  elapse  beyond  her  power, 

And  homeless,  helpless,  hopeless,  lost, 

Mary  on  this  cold  world  be  tost 

With  all  her  babes  !***** 

Came  such  a  friend ! — I  must  not  say ; 

Mine  is  a  tale  of  every  day : 

But  wouldst  thou  know  the  worst  of  all, 

The  Avormwood  mingled  with  the  gall, 

Go  visit  thou,  in  their  distress, 

The  widow  and  the  fatherless, 

And  thou  shalt  find  such  wo  as  this, 

Such  breaking  up  of  earthly  bliss, 

Is  no  strange  thing, — but,  strange  to  say ! 

The  tale — the  truth — of  every  day. 

Go,  visit  thou,  in  their  distress, 
THE  WIDOW  and  the  FATHERLESS. 


1830. 


A  TALE  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

«'  O  woman !  in  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please ; 
— When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou !" 

SCOTT'S  Marmion,  canto  vL 

PART   I. 

HE  had  no  friend  on  earth  but  thee ; 

No  hope  in  heaven  above  ; 
By  day  and  night,  o'er  land  and  sea, 

No  solace  but  thy  love  : 
He  wander'd  here,  he  wander'd  there, 

A  fugitive  like  Cain ;. 
-And  mourn 'd  like  him,  in  dark  despair 

A  brother  rashly  slain. 


A    TALE   WITHOUT   A    NAME.  Ill 

Rashly,  yet  not  in  sudden  wrath, 

They  quarrell'd  in  their  pride; 
He  sprang  upon  his  brother's  path, 

And  smote  him  that  he  died. 
A  nightmare  sat  upon  his  brain, 

All  stone  within  he  felt; 
A  death-watch  tick'd  through  every  vein, 

Till  the  dire  blow  was  dealt. 

As  from  a  dream,  in  pale  surprise, 

Waking,  the  murderer  stood  ; 
He  met  the  victim's  closing  eyes, 

He  saw  his  brother's  blood  : 
That  blood  pursued  him  on  his  way, 

A  living,  murmuring  stream  ; 
Those  eyes  before  him  flash'd  dismay, 

With  ever-dying  gleam. 

In  vain  he  strove  to  fly  the  scene, 

And  breathe  beyond  that  time ; 
Tormented  memory  glared  between; 

Immortal  seem'd  his  crime : 
His  thoughts,  his  words,  his  actions  all 

Turn' d  on  his  fallen  "brother  ; 
That  hour  he  never  could  recall, 

Nor  ever  live  another. 

To  him  the  very  clouds  stood  still, 

The  ground  appear'd  unchanged ; 
One  li<jht  was  ever  on  the  hill, 

— That  hill  where'er  he  ranged : 
He  heard  the  brook,  the  birds,  the  wind, 

Sound  in  the  glen  below; 
The  self-same  tree  he  cower'd  behind, 

He  struck  the  self-same  blow. 

Yet  was  not  reason  quite  o'erthrown, 

Nor  so  benign  his  lot, 
To  dwell  in  frenzied  grief  alone. 

All  other  wo  forgot : 


142  NARRATIVES. 


The  world  within  and  world  around, 

Clash'd  in  perpetual  strife  ; 
Present  and  past  close  intervvound 

Through  his  whole  thread  of  life. 

That  thread,  inextricably  spun, 

Might  reach  eternity ; 
For  ever  doing,  never  done, 

That  moment's  deed  might  be ; 
This  was  a  worm  that  would  not  die, 

A  fire  unquenchable : 
Ah  !  whither  shall  the  sufferer  fly  ? 

Fly  from  a  bosom-hell  ? 

He  had  no  friend  on  earth  but  thee, 

No  hope  in  heaven  above  ; 
By  day  and  night,  o'er  land  and  sea, 

No  refuge  but  thy  love  ; 
Not  time  nor  place,  nor  crime,  nor  shame, 

Could  change  thy  spousal  truth  : 
In  desolate  old  age  the  same 

As  in  the  joy  of  youth. 

Not  death,  but  infamy,  to  'scape, 

He  left  his  native  coast ; 
To  death  in  any  other  shape, 

He  long'd  to  yield  the  ghost : 
But  infamy  his  steps  pursued, 

And  haunted  every  place, 
While  death,  though  like  a  lover  wooed, 

Fled  from  his  loathed  embrace. 

He  wander'd  here,  he  wander'd  there, 

And  she  his  angel-guide, — 
The  silent  spectre  of  despair, 

With  mercy  at  his  side  ; 
Whose  love  and  loveliness  alone 

Shed  comfort  round  his  gloom, 
—Pale  as  the  monumental  stone 

That  watches  o'er  a  tomb 


A    TALE   WITHOUT   A   NAME.  U3 


PART   II. 

They  cross'd  the  blue  Atlantic  flood ; 

A  storm  their  bark  assail'd  ; 
Stern  through  the  hurricane  he  stood, 

All  hearts,  all  efforts  faiPd : 
With  horrid  hope,  he  eyed  the  waves, 

That  flash'd  like  wild-fires  dim ; 
But  ocean,  midst  a'thousand  graves, 

Denied  a  grave  to  him. 

On  shore  he  sought  delirious  rest, 

In  crowds  of  busy  men, 
When  suddenly  the  yellow  pest 

Came  reeking  from  its  den  : 
The  city  vanish'd  at  its  breath  ; 

He  caught  the  taint,  and  lay 
A  suppliant  at  the  gate  of  death, 

— Death  spurn'd  the  wretch  away. 

In  solitude  of  streams  and  rocks, 

Mountains  and  forests  dread, 
Where  nature's  free  and  fearless  flocks 

At  her  own  hand  are  fed, 
They  hid  their  pangs  ; — but  oh  !  to  live 

In  peace, — In  peace  to  die,— 
Was  more  than  solitude  could  give, 

Or  earth's  whole  round  supply. 

The  swampy  wilderness  their  haunt, 

Where  fiery  panthers  prowl, 
Serperits  their  fatal  splendours  flaunt, 

And  wolves  and  lynxes  howl ; 
Where  alligators  throng  the  floods, 

And  reptiles,  venom-arm'd, 
Infest  the  air,  the  fields,  the  woods, 

They  slept,  they  waked  unharm'd 


144  NARRATIVES. 


Where  the  Red  Indians,  in  their  ire, 

With  havoc  mark  the  way, 
Skulk  in  dark  ambush,  waste  with  fire, 

Or  gorge  inhuman  prey  : 
Their  blood  no  wild  marauder  shed ; 

Secure  without  dei'ence, 
Alike,  were  his  devoted  head, 

And  her  meek  innocence. 

Weary  of  loneliness,  they  turn'd 

To  Europe's  carnage-field  ; 
At  glory's  Moloch-shrine,  he  burn'd 

His  hated  breath  to  yield  : 
He  plunged,  into  the  hottest  strife ; 

He  dealt  the  deadliest  blows ; 
To  every  foe  exposed  his  life  ; 

Powerless  were  all  his  foes. 

The  iron  thunder-bolts,  with  wings 
Of  lightning,  shunn'd  his  course ; 

Harmless  the  hail  of  battle  rings, 
The  bayonet  spends  its  force  ; 

The  sword  to  smite  him  flames  aloof. 
Descends, — but  strikes  in  vain  ; 

His  branded^front  was  weapon-proof, 

He  wore  the  mark  of  Cain. 

• 

"  I  cannot  live, — I  cannot  die  !" 

He  mutter'd  in  despair ; 
"  This  curse  of  immortality, 

Oh,  could  I  quit,— or  bear  !" 
— Of  every  frantic  hope  bereft, 

To  meet  a  nobler  doom, 
One  refuge, — only  one, — was  left, — 

To  storm  th'  unyielding  tomb. 

Through  his  own  breast  the  passage  lay, 

The  steel  was  in  his  hand  ; 
But  fiends  upstarting  fenced  the  way, 

And  every  nerve  unmann'd  : 


A   TALE   WITHOUT   A   NAME.  148 

The  heart  that  ached  its  blood  to  spill, 

With  palsying  horror  died  ; 
The  arm,  rebellious  to  his  will, 

Hung  withering  at  his  side.  • 

O  woman  !  wonderful  in  love, 

Whose  weakness  is  thy  power, 
How  did  thy  spirit  rise  above 

The  conflict  of  that  hour ! 
— She  found  him  prostrate  ; — not  a  sigh 

Escaped  her  tortured  breast, 
Nor  fell  one  tear-drop  from  her  eye, 

Where  torrents  were  supprest. 

< 

Her  faithful  bosom  stay'd  his  head, 

That  throbb'd  with  fever  heat ; 
Her  eye  serene  compassion  shed, 

Which  his  could  never  meet : 
Her  arms  enclasp'd  his  shuddering  frame, 

While  at  his  side  she  kneel'd, 
And  utter'd  nothing  but  his  name, 

Yet  all  her  soul  reveal'd. 

Touch'd  to  the  quick,  he  gave  no  sign 

By  gentle  word  or  tone  ; 
In  him  affection  could  not  shifle, 

'Twos  fire  within  a  stone ; 
Which  no  collision  by  the  way 

Could  startle  into  light, 
Though  the  poor  heart  that  held  it,  lay 

Wrapt  in  Cimmerian  night. 

It  was  not  always  thus ;— erewhile 

The  kindness  of  his  youth. 
His  brow  of  innocence,  and  smile 

Of  unpretending  truth, — 
Had  left  such  strong  delight, — that  she 

Would  oft  recall  the  time, 
And  live  in  golden  memory, 

Unconscious  of  his  crime. 

«  13 


140  NARRATIVES. 


Though  self-abandon'd  now  to  fate, 

The  passive  prey  of  grief, 
Sullen,  and  cold,  and  desolate, 

He  shunn'd,  he  spurn'd  relief: 
Still  onward  iiv  its  even  course 

Her  pure  affection  press'd, 
And  pour'd  with  soft  and  silent  force 

Its  sweetness  through  his  breast. 

Thus  Sodom's  melancholy  lake 

No  turn  or  current  knows ; 
Nor  breeze,  nor  billow  sounding,  break 
.  The  horror  of  repose  ; 
While  Jordan,  through  the  sulphurous  brine, 

Rolls  a  translucent  stream, 
Whose  waves  with  answering  beauty  shine 

To  every  changing  beam. 


PART   III. 

At  length  the  hardest  trial  came, 

Again  they  cross  the  seas  ; 
The  waves  their  wilder  fury  tame, 

The  storm  becomes  a  breeze  : 
Homeward  their  easy  course  they  hold, 

And  now  in  radiant  view, 
The  purple  forelands,  tinged  with  gold, 

Larger  and  lovelier  grew. 

The  vessel  on  the  tranquil  tide 

Then  seem'd  to  lie  at  rest, 
While  Albion,  in  maternal  pride, 

Advanced  with  open  breast 
To  bid  them  welcome  on  the  main : 

— Both  shrunk  from  her  embrace  ; 
Cold  grew  the  pulse  through  every  vein ; 

He  turn'd  away  his  face. 


A   TALE    WITHOUT   A   NAME.  117 

Silont,  apart,  on  deck  he  stands 

In  ecstasy  of  \vo: 
A  brother's  blood  is  on*his  hands, 

He  sees,  he  hears  it  flow : 
Wilder  than  ocean  tempest- wrought, 

Though  deadly  calm  his  look ; 
His  partner  read  his  inmost  thought, 

And  strength  her  limbs  forsook. 

Then  first,  then  last,  a  pang  she  proved 

Too  exquisite  to  bear: 
She  fell, — he  caught  her, — strangely  moved, 

Roused  from  intense  despair; 
Alive  to  feelings  long  unknown, 

He  wept  upon  her  cheek, 
And  call'd  her  in  as  kind  a  tone 

As  love's  own  lips  could  speak. 

Her  spirit  heard  that  voice,  and  felt 

Arrested  on  its  flight ; 
Back  to  the  mansion  where  it  dwelt, 

Back  from  the  gates  of  light, 
That  open'd  paradise  in  trance, 

It  hasteu'd  from  afar, 
Quick  as  the  startled  seaman's'  glance 

Turns  from  the  polar  star. 

She  breathed  again,  look'd  up,  and  lo ! 

Those  eyes  that  knew  not  tears, 
With  streams  of  tenderness  o'erflow ; 

That  heart,  through  hopeless  years, 
The  den  of  fiends  in  darkness  chain'd, 

That  would*  not,  dared  not  rest, 
Affection  fervent,  pure,  unfeign'd, 

In  speechless  sighs  express'd. 

Content  to  live,  since  now  she  knew 

What  love  believed  before ; 
Content  to  live,  since  he  was  true, 

And  love  could  ask  no  more,— 


148  NARAATIV1.S. 

This  vow  to  righteous  heaven  she  made, 

— "  Whatever  ills  befall, 
Patient,  unshrinking,  wndismay'd, 

I'll  freely  suffer  all." 


They  land, — they  take  the  wonted  road, 

By  twice  ten  years  estranged ; 
The  trees,  the  fields,  their  old  abode, 

Objects  and  men  had  changed : 
Familiar  faces,  forms  endear'd, 

Each  well-remember'd  name, 
From  earth  itself  had  disappear'd, 

Or  seem'd  no  more  the  same. 

The  old  were  dead,  the  young  were  old ; 

Children  to  men  had  sprung ; 
And  every  eye  to  them  was  cold, 

And  silent  every  tongue  ; 
Friendless,  companionless,  they  roam 

Amidst  their  native  scene  ; 
In  drearier  banishment  at  home, 

Than  savage  climes  had  been. 


PART    IV. 

Yet  worse  she  fear'd  ; — nor  long  they  lay 

In  safety  or  suspense  ; 
Unslumbering  justice  seized  her  prey, 

And  dragg'd  the  culprit  thence: 
Amid  the  dungeon's  darken'd  walls, 

Down  on  the  cold  damp  floor, 
A  wreck  of  misery  he  falls, 

Close  to  the  bolted  door. 

And  she  is  gone, — while  he  remains 

Bewilder'd  in  the  gloom, 
To  brood  in  solitude  and  chains 

Upon  a  felon's  doom : 


A   TALE  WITHOUT   A    NAME.  14> 

Yes,  she  is  gone, — and  he  forlorn 

Must  groan  the  night  away, 
And  long  to  see  her  face  at  morn, 

More  welcome  than  the  day. 

The  morning  comes, — she  re-appears 

With  grief-dissembling  wiles ; 
A  sad  serenity  of  tears, 

An  agony  of  smiles, 
Her  looks  assume  ;  his  spectral  woes 

Are  vanish'd  at  the  sight ; 
And  all  within  him  seem'd  repose, 

And  all  around  him  light. 

Never  since  that  mysterious  hour, 

When  kindred  blood  was  spilt, — 
Never  had  aught  in  nature  power 

To  soothe  corroding  guilt, 
Till  the  glad  moment  when  she  cross'd 

The  threshold  of  that  place, 
And  the  wild  rapture,  when  he  lost  . 

Himself  in  her  embrace. 

Even  then,  while  on  her  neck  he  hung, 

Ere  yet  a  word  they  spoke, 
As  by  a  fiery  serpent  slung, 

Away  at  once  he  broke  : 
Frenzy,  remorse,  confusion,  burst 

In  tempest  o'er  his  brain  ; 
He  felt  accused,  condemn'd,  accurst, 

He  was  himself  again. 

Days,  weeks,  and  months  had  mark'd  the  flight 

Of  time's  unwearied  wing, 
Ere  winter's  long,  lugubrious  night 

Relented  into  spring : 
To  him  who  pined  for  death's  release, 

An  age  the  space  between  ! 
To  her  who  could  not  hope  for  peace, 

How  fugitive  the  scene  ! 

13* 


NARRATIVES. 


In  vain  she  chid  forewarning  fears, 

In  vain  repress'd  her  wo, 
Alone,  unseen,  her  sighs  and  tears 

Would  freely  heave  and  flow : 
Yet  ever  in  his  sight,  by  day, 

Her  looks  were  calm  and  kind, 
And  when  at  evening-  torn  away, 

She  left  her  soul  behind. 

Hark  ! — hark  ! — the  judge  is  at  the  gate, 

The  trumpets'  thrilling  tones 
Ring  through  the  cells,  the  voice  of  fate  ! 

Re-echo'd  thence  in  groans  : 
The  sound  hath  reach'd  her  ear, — she  stands 

In  marble-chillness  dumb ; 
He  too  hath  heard,  and  smites  his  hands : 

"  I  come,"  he  cried,  "  I  come." 

Before  the  dread  tribunal  now, 

Firm  in  collected  pride, 
Without  a  scowl  upon  his  brow, 

Without  a  pang  to  hide, 
He  stood  ; — superior  in  that  hour 

To  recreant  fear  and  shame  ; 
Peril  itself  inspired  the  power 

To  meet  the  worst  that  came. 

'Twas  like  the  tempest  when  he  sought 

Fate  in  the  swallowing  flood  ; 
'Twas  like  the  battle,  when  he  fought 

For  death  through  seas  of  blood  : 
— A  violence  which  soon  must  break 

The  heart  that  would  not  bend, 
—A  heart  that  almost  ceased  to  ache  - 

In  hope  of  such  an  end. 

On  him,  while  every  eye  was  fix'd, 

And  every  lip  express'd, 
Without  a  voice,  the  rage  unmix'd. 

That  boil'd  in  every  breast ; 


A   TALE   WITHOUT    A    NAME.  151 


II  seem'd,  as  though  that  deed  abhorr'd, 

In  years  far  distant  done, 
Had  cut  asunder  ever  cord 

Of  fel  jwship  but  one, — 

That  one  indissolubly  bound 

A  feeble  \\  Oman's  heart : 
— Faithful  in  every  trial  found, 

Long  had  she  borne  her  part ; 
Now  at  his  helpless  side  alone, 

Gilt  with  infuriate  crowds, 
Like  the  new  moon  her  meekness  shone, 

Pale  through  a  gulf  of  clouds. 

Ah  !  well  might  every  bosom  yearn, 

Responsive  to  her  sigh  ; 
And  every  visage,  dark  and  stern, 

Soften  beneath  that  eye  : 
Ah  !  well  might  every  lip  of  gall 

Th'  unutter'd  curse  suspend ; 
Its  tones  for  her  in  blessings  fall, 

Its  breath  in  prayer  ascend. 

•«  Guilty  !" — that  thunder-striking  sound, 

All  shudder'd  when  they  heard ; 
A  burst  of  horrid  joy  around 

Hail'd  the  tremendous  word  ; 
Check'd  in  a  moment, — she  was  there  ! 

The  instinctive  groan  was  hush'd  ; 
Nature,  that  forced  it,  cried,  "  Forbear,;" 

Indignant  justice  blush'd. 

PART   V. 

One  wo  is  past,  another  speeds 
To  brand  and  seal  his  doom; 

The  third  day's  failing  beam  recedes, 
She  watch'd  it  into  gloom : 

That  night,  how  swift  in  its  career, 
It  flew  from  am  to  sun ! 


lit  NARRATIVES. 


That  night,  the  last  of  many  a  dear, 
And  many  a  dolorous  one  ! — 

That  night,  by  special  grace  she  wakes 

In  the  lone  convict's  cell, 
With  him  for  whom  the  morrow  breaks, 

To  light  to  heaven  or  hell : 
Dread  sounds  of  preparation  rend 

The  dungeon's  ponderous  roof; 
The  hammer's  doubling  strokes  descend, 

The  scaffold  creeks  aloof. 

She  watch'd  his  features  through  the  shade, 

Which  glimmering  embers  broke  ; 
Both  from  their  inmost  spirit  pray'd  ; 

They  pray'd,  but  seldom  spoke : 
Moments  meanwhile  were  years  to  him ; 

Her  grief  forgot  their  flight, 
Till  on  the  hearth  the  fire  grew  dim ; 

She  turn'd,  and  lo !  the  light ; — 

The  light  less  welcome  to  her  eyes, 

The  loveliest  light  of  morn, 
Than  the  dark  glare  of  felon's  eyes 

Through  grated  cells  forlorn  : 
The  cool  fresh  breeze  from  heaven  that  blew, 

The  free  lark's  mounting  strains, 
She  felt  in  drops  of  icy  dew, 

She  heard,  like  groans  and  chains. 

"  Farewell !" — 'twas  but  a  word,  yet  more 

Was  utter'd  in  that  sound, 
Than  love  had  ever  told  before, 

Or  sorrow  yet  had  found  : 
They  kiss  like  meeting  flames, — they  part, 

Like  flames  asunder  driven  ; 
Lip  cleaves  to  lip,  heart  beats  on  heart, 

Till  soul  from  soul  is  riven.     . . 

Quick  hurried  thence, — the  sullen  bell 
Its  pausing  peal  began ; 


A    TALE   WITHOUT    A    NAME.  151 


She  hearkens, — 'tis  the  dying  knell, 

Rung  for  the  living  man  : 
The  mourner  reach'd  her  lonely  bower, 

Fell  on  her  widow' d  bed, 
And  found,  through  one  entrancing  hour, 

The  quiet  of  the  dead. 

She  woke, — and  knew  he  was  no  more  : 

"  Thy  dream  of  life  is  past ; 
That  pang  with  thee,  that  pang  is  o'er, 

The  bitterest  and  the  last !" 
She  cried  : — then  scenes  of  sad  amaze 

Flash'd  on  her  inward  eye ; 
A  field,  a  troop,  a  crowd  to  gaze, 

A  murderer  led  to  die ! 

He  eyed  the  ignominious  tree, 

Look'd  round,  but  saw  no  friend; 
Was  plunged  into  eternity  ; 

— Is  this — is  this  the  end  ? 
Her  spirit  follow'd  him  afar 

Into  the  world  unknown, 
And  saw  him  standing  at  that  bar, 

Where  each  must  stand  alone. 

Silence  and  darkness  hide  the  rest 

— Long  she  survived  to  mourn  ; 
But  peace  sprang  up  within  her  breast. 

From  trouble  meekly  borne : 
And  higher,  holier  joys  had  she, 

A  Christian's  hopes  above, 
The  prize  of  suflering  constancy, 

The  crown  of  faithful  love 


1821. 


NARRATIVES. 


A  SNAKE  IN  THE  GRASS. 

A  TALE  FOR  CHILDREN  :  FOUNDED  ON  FACTS. 

SHE  had  a  secret  of  her  own, 

That  little  girl  of  whom  we  speak, 

O'er  which  she  oft  would  muse  alone, 
Till  the  blush  came  across  her  cheek, 

A  rosy  cloud,  that  glow'd  awhile, 

Then  melted  in  a  sunny  smile. 

There  was  so  much  to  charm  the  eye, 
So  much  to  move  delightful  thought, 

Awake  at  night  she  loved  to  lie, 

Darkness  to  her  that  image  brought ; 

She  murmur'd  of  it  in  her  dreams, 

Like  the  low  sounds  of  gurgling  streams 

What  secret  thus  the  soul  possess'd 
Of  one  so  young  and  innocent? 

Oh  !  nothing  but  a  robin's  nest, 
O'er  which  in  ecstasy  she  bent; 

That  treasure  she  herself  had  found, 

With  five  brown  eggs,  upon  the  ground. 

When  first  it  flash'd  upon  her  sight, 
Bolt  flew  the  dam  above  her  head  ; 

She  stoop'd,  and  almost  shriek'd  with  fright; 
But  spying  soon  that  little  bed 

With  feathers,  moss,  and  horse-hairs  twined 

Rapture  and  wonder  fill'd  her  mind. 

Breathless  and  beautiful  she  stood, 
Her  ringlets  o'er  her  bosom  fell ; 

With  hands  uplift,  in  altitude, 

As  though  a  pulse  might  break  the  spell, 

While  through  the  shade  her  pale,  fine  face 

Shone  like  a  star  amidst  the  place. 


A    SNAKE   IN    THE    GRASS.  155 

She  stood  so  silent,  stay'd  so  long, 

The  parent-birds  forgot  their  fear ; 
Cock-robin  trilPd  his  small,  sweet  song, 

In  notes  like  dew-drops  trembling,  clear; 
From  spray  to  spray  the  shyer  hen 
Dropt  softly  on  her  nest  again. 

There  Lucy  mark'd  her  slender  bill 

On  this  side,  and  on  that  her  tail, 
Peer'd  o'er  the  edge, — while,  fix'd  and  still, 

Two  bright  black  eyes  her  own  assail, 
Which,  in  eye-language,  seem  to  say, 
"  Peep,  pretty  maiden  !  then,  away  !" 

Away,  away,  at  length  she  crept, 

So  pleased,  she  knew  not  how  she  trode, 

Yet  light  on  tottering  tiptoe  slept, 
As  if  birds'  eggs  strew'd  all  the  road ; 

With  folded  arms,  and  lips  compress'd, 

To  keep  her  joy  within  her  breast. 

Morn,  noon,  and  eve,  from  day  to  day, 

By  stealth  she  visited  that  spot : 
Alike  her  lessons  and  her  play 

Were  slightly  conn'd,  or  half  forgot ; 
And  when  the  callow  young  were  hatch'd. 
With  infant  fondness  Lucy  watch'd  : — 

Watch'd  the  kind  parents  dealing  food 

To  clamorous  suppliants  all  agape ; 
Watch'd  the  small,  naked,  unform'd  brood 

Improve  in  size,  and  plume,  and  shape, 
Till  feathers  clad  the  fluttering  things, 
And  the  whole  group  seem'd  bills  and  wings. 

Unconsciously  within  her  breast, 

Where  many  a  brooding  fancy  lay, 
She  plann'd  to  bear  the  tiny  nest, 

And  chirping  choristers  away, 
In  stately  cage  to  tune  their  throats, 
And  learn  untaught  their  mother-notes. 


15«  NARRATIVES. 


One  morn,  when  fairly  fledged  for  flight, 

Blithe  Lucy,  on  her  visit,  found 
What  seem'd  a  necklace,  glittering  bright, 

Twined  round  the  nestr twined  round  and  round, 
With  emeralds,  pearls,  and  sapphires  set, 
Rich  as  my  lady's  coronet. 

She  stretch'd  her  hand  to  seize  the  prize, 

When  up  a  serpent  popt  its  head, 
But  glid  like  wild-fire  from  her  eyes, 

Hissing  and  rustling  as  it  fled ; 
She  utter'd  one  short  shrilling  scream, 
Then  stood,  as  startled  from  a  dream. 

'  Her  brother  Tom,  who  long  had  known 
That  something  drew  her  feet  that  way, 

Curious  to  catch  her  there  alone, 
Had  follow'd  her  that  fine  May-day ; 

— Lucy,  bewilder'd  by  her  trance, 

Came  to  herself  at  his  first  glance. 

Then  in  her  eyes  sprang  welcome  tears ; 

They  fell  as  showers  in  April  fall ; 
'  He  kiss'd  her,  coax'd  her,  soothed  her  fears. 

Till  she  in  frankness  told  him  all : 
— Tom  was  a  bold,  adventurous  boy, 
And  heard  the  dreadful  tale  with  'joy. 

For  he  had  learnt, — in  some  far  land, — 
How  children  catch  the  sleeping  snake; 

Eager  himself  to  try  his  hand, 
He  cut  a  hazel  from  the  brake, 

And  like  a  hero  set  to  work, 

To  make  a  lithe,  long-handled  fork. 

Brother  and  sister  then  withdrew, 
Leaving  the  nestlings  safely  there  ; 

Between  their  heads  the  mother  flew, 
Prompt  to  resume  her  nursery  care 

But  Tom,  whose  breast  for  glory  burn  d, 

tn  less  than  half  an  hour  ret  urn' d 


A    SNAKE    IN    THE    GRASS. 


1ST 


With  him  came  Ned,  as  cool  and  sly 

As  Tom  was  resolute  and  stout ; 
So,  fair  and  softly,  they  drew  nigh, 

Cowering  and  keeping  sharp  look-out, 
Till  they  had  reach'd  the  copse, — to  see, 
But  not  alarm  the  enemy. 

Guess,  with  what  transport  they  descried, 

How,  as  before,  the  serpent  lay 
Coil'd  round  the  nest,  in  slumbering  pride ; — 

The  urchins  chuckled  o'er  their  prey, 
And  Tom's  right  hand  was  lifted  soon, 
Like  Greenland  Avhaler's  with  harpoon. 

Across  its  neck  the  fork  he  brought, 
And  pinn'd  it  fast  upon  the  ground  ; 

The  reptile  woke,  and  quick  as  thought 

Curl'd  round  the  stick,  curl'd  round  and  round ; 

While,  head  and  tail,  Ned's  nimble  hands 

Tied  at  each  end,  with  pack-thread  bands. 

Scarce  was  the  enemy  secured, 

When  Lucy  timidly  drew  near, 
But  by  their  shouting  well  assured, 

Eyed  the  green  captive  void  of  fear; 
The  lads,  stark  wild  with  victor}',  flung 
Their  caps  aloft, — they  danced,  they  sung. 

But  Lucy,  with  an  anxious  look, 

Turn'd  to  her  own  dear  nest,  when  lo! 

To  legs  and  wings  the  young  ones  took, 
Hopping  and  tumbling  lo  and  fro; 

The  parents  chattering  from  above 

With  all  the  earnestness  of  love. 

Alighting  now  among  their  train, 

They  peck'd  them  on  new  feats  to  try  ; 

But  many  a  lesson  seern'd  in  vain, 
Before  the  giddy  things  would  fly  ; 

Lucy  both  laugh'd  and  cried,  to  sec 

I  Jo  .  ill  the}  play'd  at  liberty. 

U 


158  NARRATIVES. 


I  need  not  tell  the  snake's  sad  doom, 
You  may  be  sure  he  lived  not  long ; 

Cork'd  in  a  bottle  for  a  tomb, 
Preserved  in  spirits  and  in  song, 

His  skin  in  Tom's  museum  shines, 

You  read  his  story  in  these  lines. 

1831. 


THE  CAST-AWAY  SHIP. 

The  subjects  of  tlie  following  pnetns  were  suggested  by  the  loss  of  the  Blenheim, 
commanded  by  Sir  Thomas  Trowbridsre,  which  was  separated  from  the  ves- 
sels under  its  convoy,  during  a  storm  in  the  Indian  Ocean.— The  Admiral'* 
eon  afterwards  made  a  voyage,  without  success,  in  search  of  his  father. — 
Trowbridge  was  one  of  Nelson's  c-iptains  nt  llie  liitlle  of  the  Nile,  but  hi* 
ship  unfortunately  ran  a-ground  as  he  was  bearing  down  on  the  enemy. 

A  VESSEL  sail'd  from  Albion's  shore, 

To  utmost  India  bound, 
Its  crest  a  hero's  pendant  bore, 

With  broad  sea-laurels  crown'd 

| 

In  many  a  fierce  and  noble  fight, 
Though  foil'd  on  that  Egyptian  night 

When  Gallia's  host  was  drown'd, 
And  NELSON  o'er  his  country's  foes, 
Like  the  destroying  angel  rose. 

A  gay  and  gallant  company, 

With  shouts  that  rend  the  air, 
For  warrior-wreaths  upon  the  sea, 

Their  joyful  brows  prepare  : 
But  many  a  maiden's  sigh  was  sent, 
And  many  a  mother's  blessing  went, 

And  many  a  father's  prayer, 
With  that  exulting  ship  to  sea, 
With  that  undaunted  company. 

The  deep,  that  like  a  cradled  child 
In  breathing  slumber  lay, 


THE    CAST-AWAY    SHIP.  IS* 

More  warmly  blush'd,  more  sweetly  smiled, 

As-  rose  the  kindling  day  : 
Through  ocean's  mirror,  dark  and  clear, 
Reflected  clouds  and  skies  appear 

In  morning's  rich  array  ; 
The  land  is  lost,  the  waters  glow, 
'Tis  heaven  above,  around,  bolow. 

Majestic  o'er  the  sparkling  tide, 

See  the  tall  vessel  sail, 
With  swelling  winds  in  shadowy  pride, 

A  swan  before  the  gale  : 
Deep-laden  merchants  rode  behind  ; 
— But,  fearful  of  the  fickle  wind, 

Britannia's  cheek  grew  pale, 
When,  lessening  through  the  flood  of  light, 
Their  leader  vanish'd  from  her  sight. 

Oft  had  she  hail'd  its  trophied  prow, 

Victorious  from  the  war,    . 
And  banner'd  masts  that  would  not  bow, 

Though  riven  with  many  a  scar  ; 
Oft  had  her  oaks  their  tribute  brought, 
To  rib  its  flanks,  with  thunder  fraught ; 

But  late  her  evil  star 
Had  cursed  it  on  its  homeward  way, 
— "  The  spoiler  shall  become  the  prey." 

Thus  warn'd,  Britannia's  anxious  heart 

Throbb'd  with  prophetic  wo, 
When  she  beheld  that  ship  depart, 

A  fair  ill-omen'd  show  ! 
So  views  the  mother,  through  her  tears, 
The  daughter  of  her  hopes  and  fears, 

When  hectic  beauties  glow 
On  the  frail  cheek»  where  sweetly  bloom 
The  roses  of  an  early  tomb. 

No  fenrs  the  brave  adventurers  knew, 
Peril  and  death  they  spurn'd  ; 


160  NARRATIVES. 


Like  full-fledged  eagles  forth  they  flew ; 

Jove's  birds,  that  proudly  burn'd 
In  battle-hurricanes  to  wield 
His  lightnings  on  the  billowy  field ; 

And  many  a  look  they  turn'd 
O'er  the  blue  waste  of  waves  to  spy 
A  Gallic  ensign  in  the  sky. 

But  not  to  crush  the  .vaunting  foe, 

In  combat  on  the  main, 
Nor  perish  by  a  glorious  blow, 

In  mortal  triumph  slain, 
Was  their  unutterable  fate  ; 
— That  story  would  the  Muse  relate, 

The  song  might  rise  in  vain ; 
In  ocean's  deepest,  darkest  bed, 
The  secret  slumbers  with  the  dead. 

On  India's  long-expecting  strand 
Their  sails  were  never  furl'd  ; 
Never  on  known  or  friendly  land, 

By  storms  their  keel  was  hurl'd ; 
Their  native  soil  no  more  they  trod, 
They  rest  beneath  no  hallow'd  sod  ; 

Throughout  the  living  world, 
This  sole  memorial  of  their  lot 
Remains, — they  wrre,  and  they  are  not. 

The  spirit  of  the  Cape*  pursued 
Their  long  and  toilsome  way ; 

At  length,  in  ocean-solitude, 
He  sprang  upon  his  prey ; 

"Havoc  !"  the  shipwreck-demon  cried, 

Loosed  all  his  tempests  on  the  tide, 
Gave  all  his  lightnings  play; 


*  The  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  formerly  called  the  Cape  of  Storms.— See  Camoen'i 
Lusiiul,  book  v. 


THE    SEQUEL.  1W 


The  abyss  recoil'd  before  the  blast, 
Firm  stood  the  seamen  till  the  last. 

Like  shooting  stars,  athwart  the  gloom 
The  merchant-sails  were  sped ; 

Yet  oft,  before  its  midnight  doom, 
They  mark'd  the  high  mast-head 

Of  that  devoted  vessel,  tost 

By  winds  and  floods,  now  seen,  now  lost ; 
While  every  gun-fire  spread 

A  dimmer  flash,  a  fainter  roar ; 

— At  length  they  saw,  they  heard  no  more. 

There  are  to  whom  that  ship  was  dear, 

For  love  and  kindred's  sake  ; 
When  these  the  voice  of  Rumour  hear, 

Their  inmost  heart  shall  quake, 
Shall  doubt,  and  fear,  and  wish,  and  grieve, 
Believe,  and  long  to  unbelieve, 

But  never  cease  to  ache  ; 
Still  doom'd,  in  sad  suspense,  to  bear 
The  Hope  that  keeps  alive  Despair. 


THE  SEQUEL. 

HE  sought  his  sire  from  shore  to  shore, 

He  sought  him  day  by  day  ; 
The  prow  he  track'd  was  seen  no  more, 

Breasting  the  ocean-spray : 
Yet,  as  the  winds  his  voyage  sped, 
He  sail'd  above  his  father's  head, 

Unconscious  where  it  lay, 
Deep,  deep  beneath  the  rolling  main ; 
— He  sought  his  sire  ;  ho  sought  in  vain. 

14* 


NARRATIVES. 


Son  of  the  brave  !  no  longer  weep ; 

Still  with  affection  true, 
Along  the  wild  disastrous  deep, 

Thy  father's  course  pursue : 
Full  in  his  wake  of  glory  steer, 
His  spirit  prompts  thy  bold  career, 

His  compass  guides  thee  through ; 
So,  while  thy  thunders  awe  thei 
Britain  shall  find  thy  sire  in  thee. 


Kit 


TRIBUTARY   POEMS. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 


THE  LATE  RICHARD  REYNOLDS, 

VTio  died  on  the  10th  of  September,  1816 


THE  author  has  nothing  to  gny  in  favo'ur  of  the  following  verges,  except  that 
they  are  the  sincere  tribute  of  his  affections,  as  well  as  his  mind,  to  the  Christian 
Tirtues  of  the  deceased. 

Richard  Reynolds  wag  one  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  hut,  as  far  aa  human 
judgment  can  extend,  he  wag  one  of  those  who  also  are  Christians,  not  in  word 
only  but  in  deed.  To  hi*  memory  the  inhabitants  of  Bristol  have  already  insti- 
tuted— and  may  their  posterity  perpetuate  it! — the  noblest  monument,  perhaps, 
that  man  ever  raised  in  honour  of  his  fellow-man.  This  will  be  sufficiently 
explained  by  the  following  advertisement : — 

"At  a  general  meeting  of  the  inhabitants  of  Bristol,  held  in  the  Guildhall  of 
that  city,  on  Wednesday,  the  2.1  Ortober,  1818,  the  right  worshipful  the  Mayor 
In  the  chair: — It  was  unanimously  resolved,  That,  In  congeqvience  of  the  severe 
loss  which  society  ha*  sustained  by  the  death  of  the  venerable  Richard  Reynolds, 
and  in  order  to  perpetuate,  as  far  a*  may  be.  the  great  and  important  benefits  he 
bag  conferred  upon  the  city  of  Bristol  and  Its  vicinity,  and  to  excite  others  to 
imitate  the  example  of  the  departed  philanthropist,  an  Association  be  formed 
under  the  designation  of  'Reynolds'*  CommemorHtion  Society.'  That  the 
member*  of  the  Society  do  consist  of  life  subscribe  «  of  ten  guineas  or  upward*, 
and  annual  subscriber*  of  one  guinea  or  upwards ;  and  that  the  object  of  this 
Society  be  to  grant  relief  to  person*  In  nece**itou*  circumstances,  and  also  occa- 
•lonal  ambiance  to  other  benevolent  institution*  in  or  near  the  city,  to  enable 
them  to  continue  or  increase  their  usefulness,  and  that  especial  regard  be  had  to 
the  Samaritan  Society,  of  whirh  Richard  Reynold*  was  the  founder.  That  the 
case*  to  be  anistcd  and  relieved  be  entirely  in  the  discretion  of  the  committee ; 
but  it  I*  recommended  to  them  not  to  grant  any  relief  or  assistance  without  a 
careful  investigation  of  the  circumstance*  of  each  cane  ;  and  that.  In  Imitation  of 
the  example  of  the  individual  whom  the  Society  is  designed  to  commemorate,  it 
be  considered  a*  a  sacred  duty  of  iHfe  committee,  to  the  latest  period  nf  its 
exUtence,  to  be  wholly  uninfluenced  in*  the  diitribution  of  it*  funds  by  any  con- 
sideration* of  *ect  or  party." 

The  third  piece  In  the  eniuing  series,  entitled  "  A  Good  Man'*  Monument," 
was  Intended  for  a  figurative  representation  of  this  sublime  and  universal  cha- 
rity. The  recembUnce  ought  to  have  been  sufficiently  obvioun,  without  being, 
pointed  out  lure. 


TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 


I. THE    DEATH    OF   THE    RIGHTEOUS. 

THIS  place  is  holy  ground ; 

World,  with  thy  caress  away ! 
Silence  and  darkness  reign  around, 

But,  lo !  the  creak  of  day : 
What  bright  and  sudden  dawn  appears, 
To  shine  upon  this  scene  of  tears  ? 

'Tis  not  the  morning  light, 

That  wakes  the  lark  to  sing ; 
'Tis  not  a  meteor  of  the  night, 
Nor  track  of  .angel's  wing : 
It  is  an  uncreated  beam, 
Like  that  which  shone  on  Jacob's  dream. 

Eternity  and  Time 

Met  for  a  moment  here  ; 
From  earth  to  heaven,  a  scale  sublime 

Rested  on  either  sphere, 
Whose  steps  a  saintly  figure  trod, 
By  Death's  cold  hand  led  home  to  GOD. 

He  landed  in  our  view, 

Midst  flaming  hosts  above : 
Whose  ranks  stood  silent,  while  he  drew 

Nigh  to  the  throne  of  love, 
And  meekly  took  the  lowest  seat, 
Yet  nearest  his  Redeemer's  feet. 

• 

Thrill'd  with  ecstatic  awe, 

Entranced  our  spirits  fell, 
And  saw — yet  wist  not  what  they  saw 

And  heard — no  tongue  can  tell 
What  sounds  the  ear  of  rapture  caught, 
What  glory  fill'd  the  eye  of  thought. 

Thus  far  above  the  pole, 
On  wings  of  mounting  fire, 

Faith  may  pursue  th'  enfranchised  soul, 
But  soon  her  pinions  tire  ; 


THE    LATE   RICHARD    REYNOLDS.  165 

It  is  not  given  to  mortal  man 
Eternal  mysteries  to  scan. 

— Behold  the  bed  of  death  ; 
This  pale  and  lovely  clay ; 
Heard  ye  the  sob  of  parting  breath  ? 

Mark'd  ye  the  eye's  last  ray  ? 
No ; — life  so  sweetly  ceased  to  be, 
It  lapsed  in  immortality. 

Could  tears  revive  the  dead, 

Rivers  should  swell  our  eyes ; 
Could  sighs  recall  the  spirit  fled, 

We  would  not  quench  our  sighs, 
Till  love  relumed  this  alter'd  mien, 
And  all  th'  imbodied  soul  were  seen. 

Bury  the  dead ; — and  weep 
In  stillness  o'er  the  loss  ; 
Bury  the  dead ; — in  Christ  they  sleep, 

Who  bore  on  earth  his  cross, 
And  from  the  grave  their  dust  shall  rise, 
In  his  own  image  to  the  skies. 


II. THE    MEMORY   OF    THE   JTJST. 

STRIKE  a  louder,  loftier  lyre ; 
Bolder,  sweeter  strains  employ  ; 
Wake,  Remembrance  ! — and  inspire 
Sorrow  with  the  song  of  joy. 

Who  was  He,  for  whom  our  tears 
Flow'd,  and  will  not  cease  to  flow  ? 

— Full  of  honours  and  of  years, 
In  the  dust  his  head  lies  low. 

Yet  resurgent  from  the  dust, 
Springs  aloft  his  mighty  name ; 

For  the  memory  of  the  Just 
Lives  in  everlasting  fame. 


TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 


He  Avas  One,  whose  open  face 

Did  his  inmost  heart  reveal; 
One,  who  wore  with  meekest  grace, 

On  his  forehead,  Heaven's  broad  seal. 

Kindness  all  his  looks  express'd, 

Charity  Avas  every  word  ; 
Him  the  eye  beheld,  and  bless'd  , 

And  the  ear  rejoiced  that  heard. 

Like  a  patriarchal  sage, 

Holy,  humble,  courteous,  mild, 

He  could  blend  the  awe  of  age 
With  the  SAveetness  of  a  child. 

As  a  cedar  of  the  LORD, 

On  the  height  of  Lebanon, 
Shade  and  shelter  doth  afford, 

From  the  tempest  and  the  sun  :— 

While  in  green  luxuriant  prime, 
Fragrant  airs  its  boughs  diffuse, 

From  its  locks  it  shakes  sublime, 
O'er  the  hills,  the  morning  de\vs  :— 

Thus  he  flourished,  tall  and  strong, 
Glorious  in  perennial  health  ; 

Thus  he  scatter'd,  late  and  long, 
All  his  plenitude  of  Avealth  !— 

Wealth,  \vhich  prodigals  had  deem'd 
Worth  the  soul's  uncounted  cost  ; 

Wealth,  Avhich  misers  had  esteem'd 
Cheap,  though  heaven  itself  Avere  lost. 

This,  Avith  free  unsparing  hand 
To  the  poorest  child  of  need, 

This  he  threAv  around  the  land, 
Like  the  sower's  precious  seed. 

In  the  Avorld's  great  harvest  day, 
Every  graia  on  every  ground, 


THE   LATE    RICHARD    REYNOLDS.  107 

9  » 

Stony,  thorny,  by  the  way, 

Shall  an  hundred  fold  be  found. 

Yet,  like  noon's  refulgent  blaze, 
Though  he  shone  from  east  to  west, 

Far  withdrawn  from  public  gaze, 
Secret  goodness  pleased  him  best. 

As  the  sun,  retired  from  sight, 

Through  the  purple  evening  gleams, 

Or,  unrisen,  clothes  the  night, 
In  the  morning's  golden  beams : 

Thus  beneath  th'  horizon  dim, 

He  would  hide  his  radiant  head, 
And  on  eyes  that  saw  not  him, 

Light  and  consolation  shed. 

Oft  his  silent  spirit  went, 

Like  an  angel  from  the  throne, 
On  benign  commissions  bent, 

In  the  fear  of  GOD  alone. 

Then  the  widow  s  heart  would  sing, 

As  she  turn'd  her  wheel,  for  joy ; 
Then  the  bliss  of  hope  would  spring 

On  the  outcast  orphan  boy. 

To  the  blind,  the  deaf,  the  lame, 

To  the  ignorant  and  vile, 
Stranger,  captive,  slave,  he  came 

With  a  welcome  and  a  smile. 

Help  to  all  he  did  dispense, 

Gold,  instruction,  raiment,  food, 
Like  the  gifts  of  Providence, 

To  the  evil  and  the  good. 

Deeds  of  mercy,  deeds  unknown, 

Shall  eternity  record, 
Which  he  durst  not  call  his  own, 

For  he  did  them  to  tfoe  LORD. 


168  TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 

As  the  Earth  puts  forth  her  flowers, 
Heaven-ward  breathing  from  below; 

As  the  clouds  descend  in  showers, 
When  the  southern  breezes  blow ; 

Thus  his  renovated  mind, 

Warm  with  pure  celestial  love, 

Sheds  its  influence  on  mankind, 
While  its  hopes  aspired  above. 

Full  of  faith  at  length  he  died, 
And,  victorious  in  the  race, 

Won  the  crown  for  which  he  vied 
— Not  of  merit,  but  of  grace. 


III. A   GOOD   MAN  S    MONUMENT. 

THE  pyre,  that  burns  the  aged  Bramin's  bones, 
Runs  cold  in  blood,  and  issues  living  groans, 
When  the  whole  Harem  with  the  husband  dies, 
And  demons  dance  around  the  sacrifice. 

In  savage  realms,  when  tyrants  yield  their  breath, 
Herds,  flocks,  and  slaves,  attend  their  lord  in  death ; 
Arms,  chariots,  carcases,  a  horrid  heap, 
Rust  at  his  side,  or  share  his  mouldering  sleep. 

When  heroes  fall  triumphant  on  the  plain ; 
For  millions  conquered,  and  ten  thousands  slain  r 
For  cities  levelPd,  kingdoms  drench'd  in  blood, 
Navies  annihilated  on  the  flood ; 
— The  pageantry  of  public  grief  requires 
The  splendid  homage  of  heroic  lyres  ; 
And  genius  moulds  impassion' d  brass  to  breathe 
The  dauntless  spirit  of  the  dust  beneath, 
Calls  marble  honour  from  its  cavern'd  bed,      . 
And  bids  it  live — the  proxy  of  the  dead. 

Reynolds  expires,  a  nobler  chief  than  these : 
No  blood  of  widows  stains  his  obsequies  • 


THE    LATE    RICHARD    REYNOLDS.  1M 

But  widows'  tears,  in  sad  bereavement,  fall, 

And  foundling  voices  on  their  father  call : 

No  slaves,  no  hecatombs,  his  relics  crave, 

To  gorge  the  worm,  and  crowd  his  quiet  grave ; 

But  sweet  repose  his  slumbering  ashes  find, 

As  if  in  Salem's  sepulchre  enshrined  ; 

And  watching  angels  waited  for  the  day, 

When  Christ  should  bid  them  roll  the  stone  away. 

Not  in  the  fiery  hurricane  of  strife, 
'Midst  slaughter'd  legions,  he  resign'd  his  life ; 
But  peaceful  as  the  twilight's  parting  ray,  - 
His  spirit  vanish'd  from  its  house  of  clay, 
And  left  on  kindred  souls  such  power  imprest, 
They  seem'd  with  him  to  enter  into  rest. 
Hence  no  vain  pomp,  his  glory  to  prolong, 
No  airy  immortality  of  song ; 
No  sculptured  imagery,  of  bronze  or  stone, 
To  make  his  lineaments  for  ever  known, 
Reynolds  requires : — his  labours,  merits,  name, 
Demand  a  monument  of  surer  fame  ; 
Not  to  record  and  praise  his  virtues  past, 
But  show  them  living,  while  the  world  shall  last ; 
Not  to  bewail  one  Reynolds,  snatch'd  from  earth, 
But  give,  in  every  age,  a  Reynolds  birth ; 
In  every  age  a  Reynolds  ;  born  to  stand 
A  prince  among  the  worthies  of  the  land, 
By  Nature's  title,  written  in  his  face : 
More  than  a  prince — a  sinner  saved  by  grace, 
Prompt  at  his  meek  and  lowly  Master's  call 
To  prove  himself  the  minister  of  all. 

Bristol !  to  thee  the  eye  of  Albion  turns ; 
At  thought  of  thee  thy  country's  spirit  burns ; 
For  in  thy  walls,  as  on  her  dearest  ground, 
Are  "  British  minds  and  British  manners"  found : 
And  'midst  the  wealth,  which  Avon's  waters  pour 
From  every  clime,  on  thy  commercial  shore, 
Thou  hast  a  native  mine  of  worth  untold : 
Thine  heart  is  not  encased  in  rigid«gold, 

15 


170 


TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 


Wither'd  to  mummy,  steel'd  against  distress  ; 
No — free  as  Severn's  waves,  that  spring  to  bless 
Their  parent  hills,  but  as  they  roll  expand 
In  argent  beauty  through  a  lovelier  land, 
And  widening,  brightening  to  the  western  sun, 
In  floods  of  glory  through  thy  channel  run  ; 
Thence,  mingling  with  the  boundless  tide,  are  hurl'd 
In  Ocean's  chariot  round  the  utmost  world  : 
Thus  flow  thine  heart-streams,  warm  and  unconfined. 
At  home,  abroad,  to  wo  of  every  kind. 
Worthy  wert  thou  of  Reynolds  ; — worthy  he 
To  rank  the  first  of  Britons  even  in  thee. 
Reynolds  is  dead ; — thy  lap  receives  his  dust 
Until  the  resurrection  of  the  just : 
Reynolds  is  dead ;  but  while  thy  rivers  roll, 
Immortal  in  thy  bosom  live  his  soul ! 

Go,  build  his  monument : — and  let  it  be 
Firm  as  the  land,  but  open  as  the  sea. 
Low  in  his  grave  the  strong  foundations  lie, 
Yet  be  the  dome  expansive  as  the.  sky, 
On  crystal  pillars  resting  from  above, . 
Its  sole  supporters — works  of  faith  and  love; 
So  clear,  so  pure,  that  to  the  keenest  sight, 
They  cast  no  shadow  :  all  within  be  light ; 
No  walls  divide  the  area,  nor  enclose ; 
Charter  the  whole  to  every  wind  that  blows ; 
Then  rage  the  tempest,  flash  the  lightnings  blue, 
And  thunders  roll, — they  pass  unharming  through 
•   One  simple  altar  in  the  midst  be  placed, 
With  this,  and  only  this,  inscription  graced, 
The  song  of  angels  at  ImmanuePs  birth, 
"  Glory  to  God  !  good  will  and  peace  on  earth." 
There  be  thy  duteous  sons  a  tribe  of  priests, 
Not  offering  incense,  nor  the  blood  of  beasts, 
But  with  their  gifts  upon  that  altar  spread ; 
— Health  to  the  sick,  and  to  the  hungry  bread, 
Beneficence  to  all,  their  hands  shall  deal, 
With  Reynolds'  single  eye  and  hallow'd  zeal. 


IN    MEMORY    OF   ROWLAND    HODGSON,    ESQ.  171 

Pain,  want,  misfortune,  thither  shall  repair ; 
Folly  and  vice  reclaim'd  shall  worship  there 
The  God  of  him — in  whose  transcendent  mind 
Stood  such  a  temple,  free  to  all  mankind : 
Thy  God,  thrice-honour'd  city  !  bids  thee  raise 
That  fallen  temple,  to  the  end  of  days : 
Obey  his  voice  ;  fulfil  thine  high  intent ; 
— Yea,  be  thyself  the  Good  Man's  Monument! 

1818. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

ROWLAND  HODGSON,  ESQ.. 

OF   SHEFFIELD; 

Who  departed  this  life  January  27,  1837,  aged  63  years.  Through  a  long  period 
of  severe  bodily  affliction,  aggravated  in  the  sequel  by  loss  of  sight,  he  sig- 
nally exemplified  llie  Christian  graces  of  faith,  Itupe,  and  charity,  with  hum- 
ble resignation  to  the  will  of  God.  He  hud  been  from  his  youth  one  of  the 
_nnwt  active,  liberal,  and  unwearied  supporters  of  benevolent  and  evangelical 
institutions  throughout  this  neighbourhood  and  elsewhere,  in  foreign  lands 
as  well  as  at  home.  The  writer  of  these  lines  had  the  happiness  to  be  his 
travelling  companion  on  annual  visits  and  temporary  sojourns,  which  they 
made  together  In  many  parts  of  the  kingdom,  from  the  autumn  of  1817  to  the 
•aine  season  of  1830. 

PART   I. 

Go  where  thy  heart  had  gone  before, 

And  thy  heart's  treasure  lay ; 
Go,  and  with  open'd  eye  explore 

Heaven's  uncreated  day : 
Light  in  the  LORD,  light's  fountain,  see, 
And  light  in  Him  for  ever  be. 

But  darkness  thou  has  left  behind ; 

No  sign,  no  sight,  nor  sound, 
At  home,  abroad,  of  thee  I  find, 

Where  thou  wert  ever  found  ; 
Then  gaze  I  on  thy  vacant  place, 
Till  my  soul's  eye  meets  thy  soul's  face :— 


TRIBUTARY   POEMS. 


As,  many  a  time,  quite  through  the  veil 

Of  flesh  'twas  wont  to  shine, 
When  thy  meek  aspect,  saintly  pale, 

In  kindness  turn'd  to  mine, 
And  the  quench'd  eye  its  film  forgot, 
Look'd  full  on  me, — yet  saw  me  not ! 

Then,  through  the  body's  dim  eclipse, 

What  humble  accents  broke, 
While,  breathing  prayer  or  praise,  thy  lips 

Of  light  within  thee  spoke  ; 
Midst  Egypt's  darkness  to  be  felt, 
Thy  mind  in  its  own  Goshen  dwelt. 

Nor  less  in  days  of  earlier  health, 

When  life  to  thee  was  dear, 
Borne  on  the  flowing  tide  of  wealth, 

To  me  this  truth  was  clear, 
That  hope  in  Christ  was  thy  best  health, 
Riches  that  make  not  wings  thy  wealth. 

When  frequent  sickness  bow'd  thy  head, 

And  every  labouring  breath, 
As  with  a  heavier  impulse,  sped 

Thy  downward  course  to  death, 
Faith  falter'd  not  that  hope  to  show 
Though  words,  like  life's  last  drops,  fell  slow. 

How  often  when  I  turn'd  away, 

As  having  seen  the  last 
Of  thee  on  earth,  my  heart  would  say, 

— "  When  my  few  days  are  past, 
Such  strength  be  mine,  though  nature  shrink, 
The  cup  my  Father  gives,  to  drink  !" 

I  saw  thee  slumbering  in  thy  shroud, 

As  yonder  moon  I  view, 
Now  glimmering  through  a  snow-white  cloud 

Midst  heaven's  eternal  blue  ; 
— I  saw  thee  lower'd  into  the  tomb, 
Like  that  cloud  deepening  into  gloom. 


IN    MEMORY   OF   ROWLAND    HODGSON,  ESQ. 

All  darkness  thou  hast  left  behind; 

— It  was  not  thee  they  wound 
In  dreary  grave-clothes,  and  consign'd 

To  perish  in  the  ground ; 
'Twas  but  thy  mantle,  dropt  in  sight, 
When  ihou  wert  vanishing  in  light. 

That  mantle,  in  earth's  wardrobe  lain, 

A  frail  but  precious  trust, 
Thou  wilt  reclaim  and  wear  again, 

When,  freed  from  worms  and  dust, 
The  bodies  of  the  saints  shall  be 
Their  robes  of  immortality. 

PART  n. 

These  fragments  of  departed  years, 

I  gather  up  and  store, 
Since  ihou, — in  mercy  to  our  tears 

And  prayers, — art  heal'd  no  more. 
In  that  last  war  was  no  discharge  ; 
— Yet  walks  thy  ransom'd  soul  at  large. 

For  what,  myfriend,  was  death  to  thee  ? 

A  king  ?  a  conqueror  ? — No ; 
Death,  swallow'd  up  in  victory, 

Himself  a  captive  foe, 
Was  sent  in  chains  to  thy  release, 
By  Him  who  on  the  cross  made  peace. 

When  year  by  year,  on  pilgrimage, 

We  journey 'd  side  by  side, 
And  pitch'd  and  struck,  from  stage  to  stage, 

Our  tents,  had  we  one  guide  ? 
One  aim  ? — are  all  our  meetings  past  T 
Must  our  last  parting  be  our  last  ? 

Nay,  GOD  forbid  ! — if  hand  and  heart, 

On  earth  we  loved  to  roam, 
—Where  once  to  meet  is  ne'er  to  part, 

In  heaven's  eternal  home, 


174  TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 

Our  Father's  house,  not  made  tvith  hands, 
May  we  renew  our  friendship's  bands  ! 

Thus,  as  I  knew  thee  well  and  long, 
Thy  private  worth  be  told : 

What  thou  wert  more,  affection's  song 
Presumes  not  to  unfold  : 

Thy  works  of  faith  and  zeal  of  love, 

Are  they  not  register'd  above  ? 

Are  they  not  register'd  below  ? 

— If  few  their  praise  record, 
Yet,  in  the  judgment,  all  shall  know, 

Thou  didst  them  to  thy  LORD  ; 
For  'twas  thy  soul's  delight  to  cheei 
The  least  of  all  his  brethren  here. 

Though  less  than  even  the  least  of  these, 

Thou  didst  thyself  esteem, 
Thou  Avert  a  flower-awakening  breeze, 

A  meadow-watering  stream  : 
The  breeze  unseen  its  odours  shed, 
The  stream  unheard  its  bounty  spread. 

What  art  thou  now  ? — Methinks  for  thee 
Heaven  brightens  round  its  king ; 

New  beams  of  the  Divinity, 
New-landing  spirits  bring, 

As  GOD  on  each  his  image  seals, 

And  ray  by  ray  himself  reveals. 

While  ray  by  ray  those  thronging  lines 

To  one  great  Centre  tend, 
Fulness  of  grace  and  glory  shines 

In  CHRIST,  their  source  and  end, 
To  show,  where  all  perfections  meet 
The  orb  of  Deity  complete. 


THE    LATE   JOSEPH   BUTTERWORTH,    ESQ.  in 


PART   III. 

So  rest  in  peace,  thou  blessed  soul ! 

Where  sin  and  sorrow  end; 
So  may  /  follow  to  the  goal, 

— Not  thee ,  not  thee,  my  friend  ! 
But  Him,  whom  thou,  through  joy  and  wo, 
Thyself  didst  follow  on  to  know. 

Faint  yet  pursuing,  I  am  strong, 

Whene'er  his  steps  I  trace ; 
Else,  slow  of  heart,  and  prone  to  wrong, 

I  yet  may  lose  the  race, 
If  on  thy  course  I  fix  mine  eye, 
And  Him  in  thee  not  glorify. 

The  wild,  the  mountain-top,  the  sea. 
The  throng'd  highway  he  trode, 

The  path  to  quiet  Bethany, 
And  Calvary's  dolorous  road  : 

Where  He  then  leads  me  must  be  right ; 

—I  walk  by  faith,  and  not  by  sight. 


"OCCUPY  TILL  I  COME." 

*  i 

OH    THE   DEATH    OP 

THE  LATE  JOSEPH  BUTTERWORTH,  ESO. 

f 

AW   EXEMPLAKT    CHB1STUW,   PATRIOT,   AHD    PHlLAHTIimOPlM1. 

! 

**  HE  was  a  burning  and  a  shining  light :" 
— And  is  he  now  eclipsed  in  hopeless  night? 
No;  faith  beholds  him  near  the  sapphire  throne  ; 
Shining  more  bright  than  e'er  on  earth  he  shone ; 
While,  where  created  splendour  all  looks  dim, 
Heaven's  host  are  glorifying  GOD  in  him. 


178  TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 

If  faith's  enraptured  vision  now  be  true, 
And  things  invisible  stand  forth  to  view, 
Though  eye  to  eye  th'  imbodied  soul  can  see, 
Self-lost  amidst  unclouded  Deity, 
He  chooses,  rather  than  a  seraph's  seat, 
The  lowest  place  at  his  Redeemer's  feet ; 
And,  with  th'  eternal  weight  of  glory  prest, 
Turns  even  in  paradise  to  Christ  for  rest. 

Come  we  who  once  beheld  his  noontide  blaze, 
And  hid  before  him  our  diminish'd  rays ; 
Since  his  translation  to  a  higher  sphere, 
We  may,  we  must  by  our  own  light  appear ; 
When  sun  and  moon  their  greater  beams  resign, 
The  stars  come  out ;  they  cannot  choose  but  shine ; 
With  force  like  his  all  eyes  we  cannot  strike, 
We  may  not  equal  him,  but  may  be  like : 
Nor  let  the  meanest  think  his  lamp  too  dim,. 
In  a  dark  world  the  LORD  hath  need  of  him ; 
By  feeble  instruments  in  providence, 
GOD  is  well  pleased  his  bounties  to  dispense ; 
In  his  economy  of  grace  the  same  ; 
— The  weakest  are  almighty  in  his  name. 

What  though  the  great,  the  good,  the  glorious  fall, 
HE  reigns  whose  kingdom  ruleth  over  all. 
— Talk  not  of  talents  ; — what  hast  thou  to  do  ? 
Thy  duty,  be  thy  portion  Jive  or  two  ; 
Talk  not  of  talents  ; — is  thy  duty  done  ? 
Thou  hadst  sufficient,  were  they  ten  or  one. 
LORD,  what  my  talents  are  I  cannot  tell, 
Till  thou  shall  give  me  grace  to  use  them  well : 
That  grace  impart,  trie  bliss  will  then  be  mine, 
But  all  the  power  and  all  the  glory  thine. 


IN   MEMORY    OF    REV.    JAMES    HARVEY.  177 


IW   MEMORY  OF 

THE  REV.   JAMES  HARVEY, 

OF   "WISTON    FAVBLL,    NORTHAMPTONSHIRE, 

"Who  died  on  Christmas-day,  1758,  aged  forty-three  years. 

COMPOSED  ON   AN   OCCASIONAL  CELEBRATION   OF    HIS   VIRTUES   AND  TALENTS, 
AT  THAT   VILLAGE,   IN    1823. 

WHERE  is  the  house  for  all  the  living  found? 

— Go  ask  the  deaf,  the  dumb,  the  dead; 

All  answer,  without  voice  or  sound, 

Each  resting  in  his  hed  ; 

Look  down  and  see, 

Beneath  thy  feet, 

A  place  for  thee  ; 

— There  all  the  living  meet. 

Whence  come  the  beauteous  progeny  of  spring! 

— They  hear  a  still,  small  voice,  "  Awake  '" 

And  while  the  lark  is  on  the  wing, 

From  dust  and  darkness  break  ; 

Flowers  of  all  hues 

Laugh  in  the  gale, 

Sparkle  with  dews, 

And  dance  o'er  hill  and  dale. 

Who  leads  through  trackless  space  the  stars  of  night? 

— The  Power  that  made  them  guides  them  still ; 

They  know  Him  not.  yet,  day  and  night, 

They  do  his  perfect  will: 

Unchanged  by  age, 

They  hold  on  high 

Their  pilgrimage 

Of  glory  round  the  sky 


171  TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 


Stars,  flowers,  and  tombs  were  themes  for  solemn  thought 

With  him  whose  memory  we  recall ; 

Yet  more  than  eye  can  see  he  sought : 

His  spirit  look'd  through  all, 

Keenly  discern'd 

The  truths  they  teach, 

Their  lessons  learn'd, 

And  gave  their  silence  speech. 

Go,  meditate  with  him  among  the  tombs, 
And  there  the  end  of  all  things  viev ; 
Visit  with  him  spring's  earliest  blooms, 
See  all  things  there  made  new ; 
Thence  rapt  aloof 
In  ecstasy, 

Hear,  from  heaven's  roof, 
Stars  preach  eternity. 

We  call  him  blessed  whom  the  LORD  hath  ble*t 

And  made  a  blessing ; — long  to  shed 

Light  on  the  living,  from  his  rest, 

And  hope  around  the  dead : 

Oh  !  for  his  lot, 

Who  dwells  in  light, 

W  here  flowers  fade  not, 

Aad  stars  can  find  no  night 


TO    THE   MEMORY   OF   JOSEPH    BROWNE. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 


THE  LATE  JOSEPH  BROWNE, 


OF  LOTHZR3DAL.K. 
OWE  OF  THE  PEOPLE  CALLED  QUAKERS, 

Who,  with  seven  other*  of  his  religious  comnniniiy,  linrt  snff.Ted  n  Ions  confine- 
ment in  the  Castle  of  York,  and  loss  of  all  his  wordily  pr"|ierty,  for  conscience 
sake,  in  the  years  1795  anil  1796  He  wn«  a  thoughtful,  hnnihle-iiiinded  man, 
and  occasionally  sol.iced  hinwelf  with  "  Prison  Jiwutemcntis"  in  verse,  at  the 
time  when  the  Author  of  these  Stanzas,  in  a  neighbouring  room,  was  whiling 
away  the  hours  of  a  shorter  captivity  in  the  same  manner. 

"  SPIRIT,  leave  thine  house  of  clay; 

Lingering  Dust,  resign  thy  breath ! 
Spirit,  cast  thy  chains  away  ; 

Dust,  be  thou  dissolved  in  death  !" 

Thus  thy  GUARDIAN  ANGEL  spoke, 

As  he  watch'd  thy  dying  bed; 
As  the  bonds  of  life  he  broke  ; 

And  the  ransom'd  captive  fled. 

« Prisoner,  long  detain'd  below ; 

Prisoner,  now  with  freedom  blest ; 
Welcome  from  a  world  of  wo. 
Welcome  to  a  land  of  rest !" 

Thus  thy  GUARDIAN  ANGEL  sang, 

As  he  bore  thy  soul  on  high ; 
While  with  Hallelujahs  rang 

All  the  region  of  the  sky. 

Ye  that  mourn  a  FATHER'S  loss, 

Ye  that  weep  a  FRIKND  no  more, 
Call  to  mind  the  CHRISTIAN  cross, 

Which  your  FRIEND,  your  FATHER,  bore. 

Grief,  and  penury,  and  pain 
Still  attended  on  his  way ; 


100  TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 


And  Oppression's  scourge  and  chain, 
More  unmerciful  than  they. 

Yet  while  travelling  in  distress 
('Twas  the  eldest  curse  of  sin) 

Through  the  world's  waste  wilderness, 
He  had  paradise  within. 

And  along  that  vale  of  tears, 

Which  his  humble  footsteps  trod, 

Still  a  shining  path  appears, 

Where  the  MOURNER  walk'd  with  GOD. 

Till  his  MASTER,  from  above, 
When  the  promised  hour  was  come, 

•Sent  the  chariot  of  his  love 

To  convey  the  WANDERER  home. 

Saw  ye  not  the  wheels  of  fire, 

And  the  steeds  that  cleft  the  wind  ? 

Saw  ye  not  his  soul  aspire, 

When  his  mantle  dropp'd  behind  ? 

'•{e  who  caught  it  as  it  fell, 

Bind  that  mantle  round  your  breast ; 
So  in  you  his  meekness  dwell, 

So  on  you  his  spirit  rest ! 

Vet  rejoicing  in  his  lot, 

Still  shall  Memory  love  to  weep 
O'er  the  venerable  spot 

Where  his  dear  cold  relics  sleep 

3rave  !  the  guardian  of  his  dust, 
Grave  '.  the  treasury  of  the  skies. 

Zvery  atom  of  thy  trust 
Rests  in  hope  again  to  rise. 

tlark !  the  judgment-trumpet  calls — 
"  Soul,  rebuild  thine  house  of  clay 

IMMORTALITY  thy  M-alls, 
And  ETERNITY  thy  day  '',* 


IN   MEMORY    OF   REV.    THOMAS    SPENCER.  181 


TO  THE   MEMORY   OF 

THE  REV.  THOMAS  SPENCER, 

OF  UVIRPOOL. 

Who  was  drowned  while  bathing  in  the  tide,  on  the  5th  of  August, 
1811,  in  his  21st  year. 

"Thy  way  i»  in  the  sea,  and  thy  path  in  the  great  waters;  and  thy  footstep* 
are  nut  known." — Ptalut  lixvii.  10. 

I  WILL  not  sing  a  mortal's  praise  ; 
To  Thee  I  consecrate  my  lays, 

To  whom  my  powers  belong  ! 
These  gifts  upon  thine  altar  strown, 

0  GOD  !  accept — accept  thine  own  ; 
My  gifts  are  Thine, — be  Thine  alone 

The  glory  of  my  song. 

In  earth  and  ocean,  sky  and  air, 
All  that  is  excellent  and  fair, 

Seen,  felt,  or  understood, 
From  one  eternal  cause  descends, 
To  one  eternal  centre  tends, 
With  GOD  begins,  continues,  ends, 

The  source  and  stream  of  good. 

1  worship  not  the  Sun  at  noon, 

The  wandering  Stars,  the  changing  Moon, 

The  Wind,  the  Flood,  the  Flame; 
I  will  not  bow  the  votive  knee 
To  Wisdom,  Virtue,  Liberty  ; 
"There  is  no  God  but  GOD"  for  me; 

— JEHOVAH  is  his  name. 

Him  through  aH  nature  I  explore, 
Him  in  his  creatures  I  adore, 

16 


S3  TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 


Around,  beneath,  above ; 
But  clearest  in  the  human  mind, 
His  bright  resemblance  when  1  find, 
Grandeur  with  purity  combined, 

I  most  admire  and  love. 

Oh !  there  was  ONE,— on  earth  a  while 
He  dwelt ; — but  transient  as  a  smile 

That  turns  into  a  tear, 
His  beauteous  image  pass'd  us  by  ; 
He  came,  like  lightning  from  the  sky, 
He  seem'd  as  dazzling  to  the  eye, 

As  prompt  to  disappear. 

Mild  in  his  uridissembling  mien, 
Were  genius,  candour,  meekness  seen ; 

— The  lips,  that  loved  the  truth  ; 
The  single  eye,  whose  glance  sublime 
Look'd  to  eternity  through  time  ; 
The  soul,  whose  hopes  were  wont  to  climb 

Above  the  joys  of  youth. 

Of  old,  before  the  lamp  grew  dark, 
Reposing  near  the  curtain'd  ark, 

The  child  of  Hannah's  prayer 
Heard,  through  the  temple's  silent  round, 
A  living  voice,  nor  knew  the  sound, 
— That  thrice  alarm'd  him,  ere  he  found 

The  Lord,  who  chose  him  there.* 

Thus  early  call'd,  and  strongly  moved, 
A  prophet  from  a  child,  approved, 

SPENCER  his  course  began; 
From  strength  to  strength,  from  grace  to  grace, 
Swiftest  and  foremost  in  the  race, 
He  carried  victory  in  his  face ; 

He  triumph'd  as  he  ran. 

*  1  Sam.  iii. 


IN   MEMORY    OF   REV.    THOMAS    SPENCER.  183 

How  short  his  day  ! — the  glorious  prize, 
To  our  slow  hearts  and  failing  eyes, 

Appear'd  too  quickly  won : 
— The  warrior  rush'd  into  the  field, 
With  arm  invincible  to  wield 
The  Sprit's  sword,  the  Spirit's  shield, 

When,  lo !  the  fight  was  done. 

The  loveliest  star  of  evening's  train 
Sets  early  in  the  western  main, 

And  leaves  the  world  in  night ; 
The  brightest  star  of  morning's  host, 
Scarce  risen,  in  brighter  beams  is  lost ; 
Thus  sunk  his  form  on  ocean's  coast, 

Thus  sprang  his  soul  to  light. 

Who  shall  forbid  the  eye  to  weep, 
That  saw  him,  from  the  ravening  deep, 

Pluck'd  like  the  lion's  prey  ? 
For  ever  bow'd  his  honour'd  head, 
The  spirit  in  a  moment  fled, 
The  heart  of  friendship  cold  and  dead, 

The  limbs  a  wreath  of  clay  ! 

Revolving  his  mysterious  lot, 

I  mourn  him,  but  I  praise  him  not; 

Glory  to  GOD  be  given, 
Who  sent  him,  like  the  radiant  bow, 
His  covenant  of  peace  to  show ; 
Athwart  the  breaking  storm  to  glow, 

Then  vanish  into  heaven. 

O  Church  !  to  whom  that  youth  was  dear, 
The  Angel  of  thy  mercies  here, 

Behold  the  path  he  trod, 
"A  milky  way"  through  midnight  skies! 
— Behold  the  grave  in  which  he  lies ; 
Even  from  this  dust  thy  prophet  cries, 

"Prepare  lo  meet  thy  GOD" 


184  TRIBUTARY   POEMS. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  SOLDIER. 

OCCASB3NED  BY  THE  SUDDEN  DEATH  OF 

THE  REV.  THOMAS  TAYLOR, 

After  having  declared,  in  his  last  Sermon,  on  a  preceding  evening,  that  he  hoped 
to  die  as  an  old  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ,  with  his  sword  in  his  baud 

•'  SERVANT  of  GOD  !  well  done, 

Rest  from  thy  loved  "employ  ; 
The  battle  fought,  the  victory  won, 

Enter  thy  Master's  joy." 
— The  voice  at  midnight  came  ; 

He  started  up  to  hear : 
A  mortal  arrow  pierced  his  frame, 

He  fell, — but  felt  no  fear. 

Tranquil  amidst  alarms, 

It  found  him  in  the  field, 
A  veteran  slumbering  on  his  arms, 

Beneath  his  red-cross  shield : 
His  sword  was  in  his  hand, 

Still  warm  with  recent  fight, 
Ready  that  moment  at  command, 

Through  rock  and  steel  to  smite. 

It  was  a  two-edged  blade 

Of  heavenly  temper  keen ; 
And  double  were  the  wounds  it  made. 

Where'er  it  smote  between : 
'Twas  death  to  sin ; — 'twas  life 

To  all  that  mourn'd  for  sin ; 
It  kindled  and  it  silenced  strife, 

Made  war  and  peace  within. 

Oft  with  its  fiery  force, 

His  arm  had  quell'd  the  foe, 
And  laid,  resistless  in  his  course. 

The  alien-armies  low : 


A    RECOLLECTION    OF    MARY   F. 


Bent  on  such  glorious  toils, 

The  world  to  him  was  loss ; 
Yet  all  his  trophies,  all  his  spoils, 

He  hung  upon  the  cross. 

At  midnight  came  the  cry, 

"  To  meet  thy  GOD  prepare  !" 
He  woke,  and  caught  his  Captain's  eye ; 

Then  strong  in  faith  and  prayer, 
His  spirit,  with  a  bound, 

Bursts  its  encumbering  clay : 
His  tent,  at  sunrise,  on  the  ground, 

A  darken' d  ruin  lay. 

The  pains  of  death  are  past, 

Labour  and  sorrow  cease, 
And  life's  long  warfare  closed  at  last. 

His  soul  is  found  in  peace. 
Soldier  of  Christ !  well  done  ; 

Praise  be  thy  new  employ ; 
And  while  eternal  ages  run, 

Rest  in  thy  Saviour's  joy. 


A  RECOLLECTION  OF  MARY  P., 

A  TJClfO  LADY  UNEXPECTEDLY  REMOVED  FROM  A  LARGE  FAMILY  CIRCLE. 

II  »r  life  had  twice  been  saved,  once  from  the  (tame*,  and  again  from  the  water, 
by  an  affectionate  f.itlurr. 

THRICE  born  for  earth  and  twice  for  heaven, 

A  lovely  maiden  once  I  knew. 
To  whom  'tis  now  in  glory  given 

To  grow,  as  here  in  shade  she  grew ; 
Brief  was  her  course,  but  starry  bright ; 
The  linnet's  song,  the  lily's  white, 
The  fountain's  freshness, — these  shall  be 
Meet  emblems  of  that  maid  to  me. 

16* 


TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 


A  weeping  babe  to  light  she  came, 

And  changed  for  smiles  a  mother's  throes; 
In  childhood  from  devouring  flame, 
Rescued,  to  second  life  she  rose  ; 
A  father's  arm  had  pluck'd  her  thence ; 
That  arm  again  was  her  defence, 
When  buried  in  the  strangling  wave, 
He  snatch'd  her  from  an  ocean  grave. 

Twice  born  for  heaven  as  thrice  for  earth, 

When  God's  eternal  Spirit  moved 
On  her  young  heart,  a  nobler  birth 

Than  nature  can  confer,  she  proved : 
— The  dew-drop  in  the  breeze  of  morn, 
Trembling  and  sparkling  on  the  thorn, 
Falls  to  the  ground,  escapes  the  eye, 
Yet  mounts  on  sunbeams  to  the  sky. 

Thus  in  the  dew  of  youth  she  shone, 

Thus  in  the  morn  of  beauty  fell ; 
Even  while  we  gazed,  the  form  was  gone, 

Her  life  became  invisible  ; 
Her  last  best  birth,  with  her  last  breath, 
Came  in  the  dark  disguise  of  death ; 
Grief  fill'd  her  parents'  home  of  love, 
But  joy  her  Father's  house  above. 

1831 


IN  MEMORY  OF  E.  B. 

FORMERLY   E.    R. 

HERS  was  a  soul  of  fire  that  burn'd 

Too  soon  for  us,  its  earthly  tent, 
But  not  too  soon  for  her  return'd 

To  Him  from  whom  it  first  was  sent : 
Grave !  keep  the  ashes,  till,  redeem'd  from  thee, 
This  mortal  puts  on  immortality 


IN   MEMORY    OF   E.    G.  187 

Hers  was  a  frame  so  frail,  so  fine, 

The  soul  was  seen  through  every  part, 

A.  light  that  could  not  choose  but  shine 
In  eye  and  utterance,  hand  and  heart ; 

That  soul  rests  now,  till  God,  in  his  great  day, 

Remoulds  his  image  from  this  perish'd  clay. 

Body  and  soul,  eternally, 

No  more  conflicting  nor  estranged, 
One  saint  made  perfect  then  shall  be, 

From  glory  into  glory  changed ; 
This  was  her  hope  in  life,  in  death ; — may  I 
Live  like  the  righteous,  like  the  righteous  die. 

1833. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  E.  G. 

SOFT  be  the  turf  on  thy  dear  breast, 
And  heavenly  calm  thy  lone  retreat ; 

How  long'd  the  wearied  frame  for  rest ; 
That  rest  is  come,  and  oh  how  sweet ! 

There's  nothing  terrible  in  death; 

'Tis  but  to  cast  our  robes  away, 
And  sleep  at  night,  without  a  breath 

To  break  repose  till  dawn  of  day. 

'Tis  not  a  night  without  a  morn, 

Though  glooms  impregnable  surround ; 

Nor  lies  the  buried  corse  forlorn, 
A  hopeless  prisoner  in  the  ground. 

The  darkest  clouds  give  lightnings  birth, 
The  pearl  is  form'd  in  ocean's  bed ; 

The  gem,  unperishing  in  earth, 

Springs  from  its  grave  as  from  the  dead. 

So  shall  the  relics  of  the  just ; 

In  weakness  sown,  b'.t  raised  in  power. 


1M  TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 


The  precious  seed  shall  leave  the  dust, 
A  glorious  and  immortal  flower. 

But  art  thou  dead  ? — must  we  deplore 
Joys  gone  for  ever  from  cnr  lot  ? 

And  shall  we  see  thy  face  no  more, 
Where  all  reminds  us — thou  art  not  ? 

No, — live  while  those  who  love  thee  live, 
The  sainted  sister  of  our  heart ; 

And  thought  to  thee  a  form  shall  give 
Of  all  thou  wast,  and  all  thou  art  :— 

Of  all  thou  wast,  when  from  thine  eyes 
The  latest  beams  of  kindness  shone  ; 

Of  all  thou  art,  when  faith  descries 
Thy  spirit  bow'd  before  the  throne. 

1821. 


M.  S. 
TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

"A  FEMALE  WHOM   SICKNESS    HAD    RECONCILED   TO   THE   NOTES  OF 
SORROW," 

V 

Who  corresponded  with  the  Author  under  this  signature,  on  the  first  pnblicatioa 
of  Iiis  Poems,  in  1806,  hut  (lied  soon  after;  when  her  real  name  and  merit* 
were  disclosed  to  him  by  one  of  her  surviving  friends. 

MY  Song  of  Sorrow  reach'd  her  ear ; 
She  raised  her  languid  head,  to  hear, 
And,  smiling  in  the  arms  of  Death, 
Consoled  me  with  her  latest  breath. 
What  is  the  Poet's  highest  aim, 
His  richest  heritage  of  fame  ? 
— To  track  the  warrior's  fiery  road, 
With  havoc,  spoil,  destruction  strew'd, 
While  nations  bleed  along  the  plains, 
Dragg'd  at  his  chariot-wheels  in  chains  * 


M.    S. 

— With  fawning  hand  to  woo  the  lyre, 
Profanely  steal  celestial  fire, 
And  bid  an  idol's  altar  blaze 
With  incense  of  unhallow'd  praise  ? 
— With  syren  strains,  Circean  art, 
To  win  the  ear,  beguile  the  heart, 
Wake  the  wild  passions  into  rage, 
And  please  and  prostitute  the  age  ? 

NO  ! — to  the  generous  bard  belong 
Diviner  themes  and  purer  song: 
— To  hail  Religion  from  above, 
Descending  in  the  form  of  Love, 
And  pointing  through  a  world  of  strife 
The  narrow  way  that  leads  to  life : 
— To  pour  the  balm  of  heavenly  rest 
Through  Sorrow's  agonizing  breast ; 
With  Pity's  tender  arms  embrace 
The  orphans  of  a  kindred  race  ; 
And  in  one  zone  of  concord  bind 
The  lawless  spoilers  of  mankind : 
— To  sing  in  numbers  boldly  free 
The  wars  and  woes  of  liberty ; 
The  glory  of  her  triumphs  tell, 
Her  noble  suffering  when  she  fell,* 
Girt  with  the  phalanx  of  the  brave, 
Or  widow'd  on  the  patriot's  grave, 
Which  tyrants  tremble  to  pass  by, 
Even  on  the  car  of  Victory. 

These  are  the  Bard^  sublimest  views, 
The  angel-visions  of  the  Muse, 
That  o'er  his  morning  slumbers  shine ; 
These  are  his  themes, — and  these  were  mine. 
But  pale  Despondency,  that  stole 
The  light  of  gladness  from  my  soul, 
While  youth  and  folly  blindfold  ran 
The  giddy  circle  up  to  Man, 


•  "  Ptu  »•!  d'ofnl  villoria  un  bet  •offrire." 


TRIBUTARY    FORMS. 


Breathed  a  dark  spirit  through  my  lyre, 
Dimm'd  the  noon-radiance  of  my  fire, 
And  cast  a  mournful  evening  hue 
O'er  every  scene  my  fancy  drew. 
Then  though  the  proud  despised  my  strain, 
It  flow'd  not  from  my  heart  in  vain ; 
The  lay  of  freedom,  fervour,  truth, 
Was  dear  to  undissembling  youth, 
From  manly  breasts  drew  generous  sighs, 
And  Virtue's  tears  from  Beauty's  eyes. 

My  Song  of  Sorrow  reach'd  HER  ear ; 
She  raised  her  languid  head  to  hear, 
And,  smiling  in  the  arms  of  Death, 
She  bless'd  me  with  her  latest  breath. 

A  secret  hand  to  me  convey'd 
The  thoughts  of  that  inspiring  Maid  ; 
They  came  like  voices  on  the  wind, 
Heard  in  the  stillness  of  the  mind, 
When  round  the  Poet's  twilight  walk 
Aerial  beings  seem  to  talk  : 
Not  the  twin-stars  of  Leda  shine 
With  vernal  influence  more  benign, 
Nor  sweeter,  in  the  sylvan  vale, 
Sings  the  lone-warbling  nightingale, 
Than  through  my  shades  her  lustre  broke, 
Than  to  my  griefs  her  spirit  spoke. 

My  fancy  form'd  her  young  and  fair, 
Pure  as  her  sister-lilies  were, 
Adorn'd  with  meekest  maiden  grace, 
With  every  charm  of  soul  and  face, 
That  Virtue's  awful  eye  approves, 
And  fond  Affection  dearly  loves; 
Heaven  in  her  open  aspect  seen, 
Her  Maker's  image  in  her  mien. 

Such  was  the  picture  fancy  drew, 
in  lineaments  divinely  true; 
The  Muse,  by  her  mysterious  art, 
Had  shown  her  likeness  to  my  hi  art 


M.    S.  •«• 

And  every  faithful  feature  brought 
O'er  the  clear  mirror  of  my  thought. 
But  she  was  waning  to  the  tomb ; 
The  worm  of  death  was  in  her  bloom ; 
— Yet  as  the  mortal  frame  declined, 
Strong  through  the  ruins  ros>e  the  mind; 
As  the  dim  moon,  when  night  ascends, 
Slow  in  the  east  the  darkness  rends, 
Through  melting  clouds,  by  gradual  gleams, 
Pours  the  mild  splendour  of  her  beams, 
Then  bursts  in  triumph  o'er  the  pole, 
Free  as  a  disembodied  soul ! 
Thus,  while  the  veil  of  flesh  decay'd, 
Her  beauties  brighten'd  through  the  shad^; 
Charms  which  her  lowly  heart  conceal' d, 
In  nature's  weakness  were  revealed 
And  still  the  unrobing  spirit  cast 
Diviner  glories  to  the  last, 
Dissolved  its  bonds,  and  clear'd  its  flight, 
Emerging  into  perfect  light. 

Yet  shall  the  friends  who  loved  her  weep, 
Though  shrined  in  peace  the  sufferer  sleep, 
Though  rapt  to  heaven  the  saint  aspire, 
With  seraph  guards  on  wings  of  fire  ; 
Yet  shall  they  weep  ; — for  oft  and  well 
Remembrance  shall  her  story  tell, 
Affection  of  her  virtues  speak, 
With  beaming  eye  and  burning  cheek, 
Each  action,  word,  and  look  recall, 
The  last,  the  loveliest  of  all, 
When  on  the  lap  of  death  she  lay, 
Serenely  smiled  her  soul  away, 
And  left  surviving  Friendship's  breast 
Warm  with  the  sunset  of  her  rest. 

O  thou,  who  wert  on  earth  unknown, 
Companion  of  my  thought  alone  ! 
Unchanged  in  heaven  to  me  thou  art, 
Still  hold  communion  with  my  heart ; 


ID  TRIBUTARY   POEMS. 


Cheer  thou  my  hopes,  exalt  my  views, 
Be  the  good  angel  of  my  Muse  ; 
— And  if  to  thine  approving  ear 
My  plaintive  numbers  once  were  dear ; 
If,  falling  round  thy  dying  hours, 
Like  evening  dews  on  closing  flowers, 
They  soothed  thy  pains,  and  through  thy  soul 
With  melancholy  sweetness  stole, 
HEAR  ME:— When  slumber  from  mine  eyes, 
That  roll  in  irksome  darkness,  flies  ; 
When  the  lorn  spectre  of  unrest 
At  conscious  midnight  haunts  my  breast ; 
When  former  joys  and  present  woes, 
And  future  fears,  are  all  my  foes ; 
Spirit  of  my  departed  friend, 
Calm  through  the  troubled  gloom  descend, 
With  strains  of  triumph  on  thy  tongue, 
Such  as  to  dying  saints  are  sung ; 
Such  as  in  Paradise  the  ear 
Of  GOD  himself  delights  to  hear ; 
— Come,  all  unseen  ;  be  only  known 
By  Zion's  harp  of  higher  tone, 
Warbling  to  thy  mysterious  voice ; 
Bid  my  desponding  powers  rejoice ; 
And  I  will  listen  to  thy  lay, 
Till  night  and  sorrow  flee  away, 
Till  gladness  o'er  my  bosom  rise, 
And  morning  kindle  round  the  skies. 
If  thus  to  me,  sweet  saint,  be  given 
To  learn  from  thee  the  hymns  of  heaven, 
Thine  inspiration  will  impart 
Seraphic  ardours  to  my  heart ; 
My  voice  thy  music  shall  prolong, 
And  echo  thy  entrancing  song ; 
My  lyre  with  sympathy  divine 
Shall  answer  every  chord  of  thine, 
Till  their  consenting  tones  give  hirth 
To  harmonies  unknown  on  earth. 


r 


ON   THE    ROYAL   INFANT.  1« 

Then  shall  my  thoughts,  in  living  fire 
Sent  do\vn  from  heaven,  to  heaven  aspire, 
My  verse  through  lofty  measures  rise, 
A  scale  of  glory,  to  the  skies, 
Resembling,  on  each  hallow'd  theme, 
The  ladder  of  the  Patriarch's  dream, 
O'er  which  descending  angels  shone, 
On  earthly  missions  from  the  throne, 
Returning  by  the  steps  they  trod, 
Up  to  the  Paradise  of  God. 

1808 


ON  THE  ROYAL  INFANT, 

STILL-BORN:  NOV.  5.  1317. 

A  THRONK  on  earth  awaited  thee  ; 

A  nation  long'd  to  see  thy  face, 
Heir  to  a  glorious  ancestry. 

And  father  of  a  mightier  race. 

Vain  hope  !  that  throne  thou  must  not  fill ; 

Thee  may  that  nation  ne'er  behold ; 
Thine  ancient  house  is  heirlcss  still, 

Thy  line  shall  never  be  unroll'd. 

Yet  while  we  mourn  thy  flight  from  earth 

Thine  was  a  destiny  sublime  ; 
Caught  up  to  Paradise  in  birth, 

Pluck'd  by  Eternity  from  Time. 

The  Mother  knew  her  offspring  dead : 
Oh  !  was  it  grief,  or  was  it  love 

That  broke  her  heart  ? — The  spirit  fled 
To  seek  her  nameless  child  above. 

Led  by  his  natal  star,  she  trod 

The  path  to  heaven: — the  meeting  there* 
Anil  how  they  stood  before  their  GOD, 

The  day  of  judgment  shall  declare. 

17 


!•«  TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 

A  MOTHER'S  LAMENT 

ON    THE    DEATH    OF    HER    INFANT    DAUGHTE* 

I  IOVED  thee.  Daughter  of  my  heart ; 

My  Child,  I  loved  thee  dearly; 
And  though  we  only  met  to  part, 

— How  s\veetly  !  how  severely  !— 
Nor  life  nor  death  can  sever 
My  soul  from  thine  for  ever. 

Thy  days,  my  little  one,  were  few, — 

An  Angel's  morning  visit, 
That  came  and  vanish'd  with  the  dew : 

'Twas  here,  'tis  gone,  where  is  it  ? 
Yet  didst  thou  leave  behind  thee 
A  clew  for  love  to  find  thee. 

The  eye,  the  lip,  the  cheelf,  the  brow, 
The  hands  slretch'd  forth  in  gladnes5 

All  life,  joy,  rapture,  beauty  now, 
Then  dash'd  with  infant  sadness, 

Till,  brightening  by  transition, 

Return'd  the  fairy  vision: — 

Where  are  they  now  ? — those  smiles,  thooc  tears, 

Thy  Mother's  darling  treasure? 
She  sees  them  still,  and  still  she  hears 

Thy  tones  of  pain  or  pleasure, 
To  her  quick  pulse  revealing 
Unutterable  fet-ling. 

Hush'd  in  a  moment  on  her  breast, 
Life,  at  the  well-spring  drinking, 

Then  cradled  on  her  lap  to  rest, 
In  rosy  slumber  sinking, 

Thy  dreams — no  thought  can  guess  them ; 

And  mine-  -no  tongue  express  them. 


THE   WIDOW   AND    THE   FATHERLESS.  194 

For  then  this  waking  eye  could  see, 

In  many  a  vain  vagary, 
The  things  that  never  were  to  be, 

Imaginations  airy ; 
Fond  hopes  that  mothers  cherish, 
Like  still-born  babes  to  perish. 

Mine  perish'd  on  thy  early  bier ; 

No — changed  to  forms  more  glorious. 
They  flourish  in  a  higher  sphere, 

O'er  time  and  death  victorious; 
Yet  would  these  arms  have  chain'd  thee, 
And  long  from  heaven  detain'd  thee. 

Sarah  !  my  last,  my  youngest  love, 

The  crown  of  every  other  ! 
Though  thou  art  born  in  heaven  above, 

I  am  thine  only  Mother, 
Nor  will  affection  let  me 
Believe  thou  canst  forget  me. 

Then, — thou  in  heaven  and  I  on  earth, — 

May  this  one  hope  delight  us, 
That  thou  wilt  hail  my  second  birth 

When  death  shall  re-unite  us, 
Where  worlds  no  more  can  sever 
Parent  and  child  for  ever. 


THE  WIDOW  AND  THE  FATHERLESS. 

WELL,  thou  art  gone,  and  I  am  left ; 

But,  oh !  ho\v  cold  and  dark  to  me 
This  world,  of  every  charm  bereft, 

Where  all  was  beautiful  with  thee ! 

Though  I  have  seen  thy  form  depart 
For  ever  from  my  widow'd  eye, 

I  hold  thee  in  my  inmost  heart ; 

There,  there  at  least,  thou  o.mst  not  die. 


1«  TRIBUTARY    POEMS. 


Farewell  on  earth  ;  Heaven  claim'd  its  own  ; 

Yet,  when  from  me  thy  presence  went, 
I  was  exchanged  for  GOD  alone  : 

Let  dust  and  ashes  learn  content. 

Ha  !  those  small  voices  silver-sweet 
Fresh  from  the  fields  my  babes  appear ; 

They  fill  my  arms,  they  clasp  my  feet ; 
—I"  Oh !  could  your  father  see  us  here  1" 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 


THE  LYRE. 

"Ah!  who  would  love  the  lyre  !" 

W.  II    STEVENS 

WHERE  the  roving  rill  meander' d 

Down  the  green  retiring  vale, 
Poor,  forlorn  ALC^US  \vander'd, 

Pale  with  thought,  serenely  pale  . 
Timeless  sorrow  o'er  his  face 
Breathed  a  melancholy  grace, 
And  fix'd  on  every  feature  there 
The  mournful  resignation  of  despair. 

O'er  his  arm,  his  lyre  neglected, 

Once  his  dear  companion,  hung, 
And,  in  spirit  deep  dejected, 

Thus  the  pensive  poet  sung; 
While  at  midnight's  solemn  noon, 
Sweetly  shone  the  cloudless  moon, 
And  all  the  slurs,  around  his  head, 
Benignly  bright,  their  mildest  influence  sr.ed 

"Lyre  !  O  Lyre  !  my  chosen  treasure, 

Solace  of  my  bleeding  heart; 
Lyre!  O  Lyre!  my  only  pleasure 

We  must  now  for  ever  part ; 
For  in  vain  thy  poet  sings, 
Wooes  in  vain  ihine  heavenly  strings; 
The  Muse's  wretched  sons  are  born 
To  cold  neglect,  and  penury,  and  scorn. 

17* 


1W  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


"That  which  ALEXANDER  sigh'd  for, 

That  which  CAESAR'S  soul  possess'd, 
That  which  heroes,  kings,  have  died  for—- 
Glory ! — animates  my  breast : 
Hark  !  the  charging  trumpets'  throats 
Pour  their  death-defying  notes  ; 
To  arms  !'  they  call :  to  arms  I  fly, 
Like  WOLFE  to  conquer,  and  like  WOLFE  to  die 

"  Soft ! — the  blood  of  murder'd  legions 

Summons  vengeance  from  the  skies  ; 
Flaming  towns  and  ravaged  regions, 
All  in  awful  judgment  rise. — 

0  then,  innocently  brave, 

1  will  wrestle  with  the  wave : 

Lo !  Commerce  spreads  the  daring  sail, 
And  yokes  her  naval  chariots  to  the  gale 

"  Blow,  ye  breezes  ! — gently  blowing, 

Waft  me  to  that  happy  shore, 
Where,  from  fountains  ever  flowing, 

Indian  realms  their  treasures  pour ; 
Thence  returning,  poor  in  health, 
Rich  in  honesty  and  wealth, 
O'er  thee,  my  dear  paternal  soil, 
I'll  strew  the  golden  harvest  of  my  toil. 

"  Then  shall  Misery's  sons  and  daughte" 

In  their  lowly  dwellings  sing: 
Bounteous  as  the  Nile's  dark  waters, 

Undiscover'd  as  their  spring, 
I  will  scatter  o'er  the  land 
Blessings  with  a  secret  hand  ; 
For  such  angelic  tasks  design'd, 
I  give  the  lyre  and  sorrow  to  the  wind  ' 

On  an  oak,  whose  branches  hoary 
Sigh'd  to  every  passing  breeze, 

Sigh'd  and  told  the  simple  story 
Of  the  patriarch  of  trees ; 


1603. 


THE    LYRE.  199 

High  in  air  his  harp  he  hung, 

Now  no  more  to  rapture  strung; 
Then  warm  in  hope,  no  longer  pale, 
He  blush'd  adieu,  and  rambled  down  the  dale. 

Lightly  touch'd  by  fairy  fingers, 

Hark  ! — the  Lyre  enchants  the  wind ; 
Fond  ALC^US  listens,  lingers 

— Lingering,  listening,  looks  behind. 
Now  the  music  mounts  on  high, 
Sweetly  swelling  through  the  sky; 
To  every  tone,  with  tender  heat, 
His  heart-strings  vibrate,  and  his  pulses  beat 

Now  the  strains  to  silence  stealing, 

Soft  in  ecstasies  expire  ; 
Oh  !  with  what  romantic  feeling 
Poor  ALC^US  grasps  the  Lyre. 
Lo !  his  furious  hand  he  flings 
In  a  tempest  o'er  the  strings  ; 
He  strikes  the  chords  so  quick,  so  loud, 
'Tis  JOVE  that  scatters  lightning  from  a  clout1 

"  Lyre  !  O  Lyre  !  my  chosen  treasure, 

Solace  of  my  bleeding  heart ; 
Lyre  !  O  Lyre  !  my  only  pleasure, 

We  will  never,  never  part : 
Glory,  Commerce,  now  in  vain 
Tempt  me  to  the  field,  the  main  ; 
The  Muse's  sons  are  blest,  though  born  ' 
To  cold  neglect,  and  penury,  and  scorn 

44  What,  though  all  the  world  neglect  me, 

Shall  my  haughty  soul  repine  ? 
And  shall  poverty  deject  me, 

While  this  hallow'd  Lyre  is  mine* 
Heaven — that  o'er  my  helpless  head 
Many  a  wrathful  vial  shed, — 
Heaven  gave  this  Lyre, — and  thus  decreed, 
Be  thou  a  bruhed,  but  not  a  broken  reed." 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


REMONSTRANCE  TO  WINTER. 

AH  !  why,  unfeeeling  WINTER,  why 

Still  flags  thy  torpid  wing? 
Fly,  melancholy  Season,  fly, 

And  yield  the  year  to  SPRING. 

Spring, — the  young  harbinger  of  love, 

An  exile  in  disgrace, — 
Flits  o'er  the  scene,  like  NOAH'S  dove, 

Nor  finds  a  resting  place. 

When  on  the  mountain's  azure  peak 

Alights  her  fairy  form, 
Cold  blow  the  winds, — and  dark  and  bleak 

Around  her  rolls  the  storm. 

If  to  the  valley  she  repair 

For  shelter  and  defence, 
Thy  wrath  pursues  the  mourner  there, 

And  drives  her,  weeping,  thence. 

She  seeks  the  brook,  the  faithless  brook, 

Of  her  unmindful  grown, 
Feels  the  chill  magic  of  thy  look, 

And  lingers  into  stone. 

She  wooes  her  embryo-flowers  in  vain 
To  rear  their  infant  heads  ; — 

Deaf  to  her  voice,  her  flowers  remain 
Enchanted  in  their  beds. 

In  vain  she  bids  the  trees  expand 
Their  green  luxuriant  charms  ; — 

Bare  in  the  wilderness  they  stand, 
And  stretch  their  withering  arms 

Her  favourite  birds,  in  feeble  notes, 

Lament  thy  long  delay  ; 
And  strain  their  little  stammering  throats 

To  charm  thy  blasts  away. 


ROUND    LOVE  S    ELYSIAN    BOWERS.  «1 

Ah  !  WINTER,  calm  thy  cruel  rage, 

Release  the  struggling  year  ; 
Thy  power  is  past,  decrepit  Sage, 

Arise  and  disappear. 

The  stars  that  graced  thy  splendid  night 

Are  lost  in  wanner  rays  ; 
The  Sun,  rejoicing  in  his  might, 

Unrolls  celestial  days. 

Then  why,  usurping  WINTER,  why 

Still  flags  thy  frozen  wing? 
Fly,  unrelenting  tyrant,  fly — 

And  yield  the  year  to  SPRING. 


ROUND  LOVE'S  ELYSIAN  BOWERS. 

ROUND  LOVE'S  Elysian  bowers 

The  fairest  prospects  rise; 
There  bloom  the  sweetest  flowers, 

There  shine  the  purest  skies: 
And  joy  and  rapture  gild  awhile 
The  cloudless  heaven  of  BEAUTY'S  smile. 

Round  LOVE'S  deserted  bowers 

Tremendous  rocks  arise ; 
Cold  mildews  blight  the  flowers, 

Tornadoes  rend  the  skies : 
And  PutAStnut'i  waning  moon  goes  down 
Amid  the  night  of  BEAUTY'S  frown. 

Then  YOUTH,  thou  fond  believer ! 

The  wily  Syren  shun; 
Who  trusts  the  dear  deceiver 

Will  surely  be  undone  : 
When  BKAUTY  triumphs,  ah  !  bewarp  ;— 
Her  smile  is  hope — her  frown  despair. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


LINES 

WRITTEN   UNDER 

A  DRAWING  OF  YARDLEY   OAK, 

CELEBRATED    BY    COWPER. 
See  Hayley't  Life  and  Letters  of  W.  Cowper,  Esq. 

THIS  sole  survivor  of  a  race 

Of  giant  oaks,  where  once  the  wood 
Rang  with  the  battle  or  the  chase, 

In  stern  and  lonely  grandeur  stood. 

From  age  to  age  it  slowly  spread 
Its  gradual  boughs  to  sun  and  wind  ; 

From  age  to  age  its  noble  head 
As  slowly  wither'd  and  declined. 

A  thousand  years  are  like  a  day, 

When  fled ; — no  longer  known  than  seen ; 
This  tree  was  doom'd  to  pass  away, 

And  be  as  if  it  ne'er  had  been ; — 

But  mournful  COWPER,  wandering  nigh, 
For  rest  beneath  its  shadow  came, 

When,  lo  !  the  voice  of  days  gone  by 
Ascended  from  its  hollow  frame. 

O  that  the  Poet  had  reveal'd 

The  words  of  those  prophetic  strains, 
Ere  death  the  eternal  mystery  seal'd 

Yet  in  his  song  the  Oak  remains. 

A.nd  fresh  in  undecaying  prime, 

TJiere  may  it  live,  beyond  the  power 

Of  storm  and  earthquake,  Man  and  Time, 
Till  Nature's  conflagration-hour. 


FRIENDSHIP,    LOVE,    AND    TRUTH. 


WRITTEN  FOR  A  SOCIETY, 

WHOSE    MOTTO    WAS    "FRIENDSHIP,   LOVE,   AND    TBVTH.  ' 

I 

WHEN  "Friendship,  Love,  and  Truth"  abound 

Among  a  band  of  BROTHERS, 
The  cup  of  joy  goes  gaily  round, 

Each  shares  the  bliss  of  others : 
Sweet  roses  grace  the  thorny  way 

Along  this  vale  of  sorrow ; 
The  flowers  that  shed  their  leaves  to-day 

Shall  bloom  again  to-morrow : 
How  grand  in  age,  how  fair  in  youth, 
•  Are  holy  "  FRIENDSHIP,  LOVE,  and  TRUTH  !" 

On  halcyon  wings  our  moments  pass, 

Life's  cruel  cares  beguiling  ; 
Old  TIME  lays  down  his  scythe  and  glass, 

In  gay  good-humour  smiling: 
With  ermine  beard  and  forelock  gray, 

His  reverend  front  adorning, 
He  looks  like  Winter  turn'd  to  May, 

Night  softcn'd  into  morning. 
How  grand  in  age,  how  fair  in  youth, 
Are  holy  "  FRIENDSHIP,  LOVE,  and  TRUTH  !" 

From  these  delightful  fountains  flow 

Ambrosial  rills  of  pleasure  : 
Can  man  desire,  can  Heaven  bestow 

A  more  resplendent  treasure  ? 
Adorn'd  with  gems  so  richly  bright, 

We'll  form  a  Constellation, 
Where  every  Star,  with  modest  light, 

Shall  gild  his  proper  station. 
How  grand  in  age,  how  fair  in  youth, 
Are  holy  "  FRIENDSHIP,  LOVK,  and  TRUTH  !'* 

I7W. 


t()4  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


RELIGION. 

AX    OCCASIOXAL    1ITMX. 

THROUGH  shades  and  solitudes  profound 
The  fainting  traveller  \vinds  his  \vay ; 

Bewildering  meteors  glare  around, 
And  tempt  his  wandering  feet  astray. 

Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  to  his  eye 
The  sudden  moon's  inspiring  light, 
When  forth  she  sallies  through  the  sky, 
•  The  guardian  angel  of  the  night. 

Thus  mortals,  blind  and  weak,  below 
Pursue  the  phantom  Bliss,  in  vain; 

The  world's  a  pilgrimage  of  wo, 
And  life  a  pilgrimage  of  pain, 

Till  mild  RELIGION,  from  above, 

Descends,  a  sweet  engaging  form— 

The  messenger  of  heavenly  love, 
The  bow  of  promise  in  a  storm. 

Then  guilty  passions  wing  their  flight, 
Sorrow,  remorse,  affliction  cease  ; 

RELIGION'S  yoke  is  soft  and  light, 
And  all  her  paths  are  paths  of  peace. 

Ambition,  pride,  revenge  depart, 
And  folly  flies  her  chastening  rod  ; 

She  makes  the  humble  contrite  heart 
A  temple  of  ihe  living  GOD. 

Beyond  the  narrow  vale  of  time, 
Where  bright  celestial  ages  roll, 

To  scenes  eternal,  scenes  sublime, 

She  points  the  way,  and  leads  the  soul. 


THE   JOY    OF    GRIEF. 


At  her  approach  the  Grave  appears 
The  Gate  of  Paradise  restored  ; 

Her  voice  the  watching  Cherub  hears, 
And  drops  his  double-flaming  sword. 

Baptized  with  her  renewing  fire, 
May  we  the  crown  of  glory  gain ; 

Rise  when  the  Host  of  Heaven  expire, 
And  reign  with  God,  for  ever  reign ! 

mi 


THE  JOY  OF  GRIEF. 

SWEET  the  hour  of  tribulation, 
When  the  heart  can  freely  sigh, 

And  the  tear  of  resignation 
Twinkles  in  the  mournful  eye. 

Have  you  felt  a  kind  emotion 

Tremble  through  your  troubled  breast; 
Soft  as  evening  o'er  the  ocean, 

When  she  charms  the  waves  to  rest  ? 

Have  you  lost  a  friend,  or  brother  ? 

Heard  a  father's  partiog  breath  ? 
Gazed  upon  a  lifeless  mother, 

Till  she  seem'd  to  wake  from  death  ? 

Have  you  felt  a  spouse  expiring 
In  your  arms  before  your  view  T 

Walch'd  the  lovely  soul  retiring 
From  her  eyes  that  broke  on  you  T 

Did  not  grief  then  grow  romantic, 
Raving  on  remember'd  bliss  ? 

Did  you  not,  with  fervour  frantic, 
Kiss  the  lips  that  felt  no  kiss  T 

Yes !  but  when  you  had  resign'd  her, 
Life  aud  you  were  reconciled ; 

W 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


ANNA  left — she  left  behind  her, 
One,  one  dear,  one  only  child. 

But  before  the  green  moss  peeping, 
His  poor  mother's  grave  array'd, 

In  that  grave  the  infant  sleeping 
On  the  mother's  lap  was  laid. 

Horror  then,  your  heart  congealing, 
Chill'd  you  with  intense  despair: 

Can  you  call  to  mind  the  feeling? 
No!  there  was  no  feeling  there. 

From  that  gloomy  trance  of  sorrow, 
When  you  woke  to  pangs  unknown, 

How  unwelcome  was  the  morrow, 
For  it  rose  on  YOU  ALONE  ! 

Sunk  in  self-consuming  anguish, 
Can  the  poor  heart  always  ache  ? 

No,  the  tortured  nerve  will  languish, 
Or  the  strings  of  life  must  break. 

O'er  the  yielding  brow  of  Sadness 
One  faint  smile  of  comfort  stole  ; 

One  soft  pang  of  tender  gladness 
Exquisitely  thrill'd  your  soul. 

While  the  wounds  of  wo  are  healing, 
While  the  heart  is  all  resign'd; 

'Tis  the  solemn  feast  of  feeling, 
'Tis  the  sabbath  of  the  mind. 

Pensive  memory  then  retraces 
Scenes  of  bliss  for  ever  fled, 

Lives  in  former  times  and  places, 
Holds  communion  with  the  dead. 

And  when  night's  prophetic  slumbers 
Rend  the  veil  to  mortal  eyes, 

From  their  tombs  the  sainted  numbers 
Of  our  lost  companions  rise. 


inoi 


THE    BATTLE    OF   ALEXANDRIA.  «7 

You  have  seen  a  friend,  a  brother, 

Heard  a  dear  dead  father  speak  ; 
Proved  the  fondness  of  a  mother, 

Felt  her  tears  upon  your  cheek. 

Dreams  of  love  your  grief  beguiling1, 
You  have  clasp'd  a  consort's  charms, 

And  received  your  infant  smiling 
From  his  mother's  sacred  arms. 

Trembling,  pale,  and  agonizing, 

While  you  mourn'd  the  vision  gone, 
Bright  the  morning-star  arising, 

Open'd  heaven,  from  whence  it  shone. 

Thither  all  your  wishes  bending, 

Rose  in  ecstasy  sublime, 
Thither  all  your  hopes  ascending 

Triumph'd  over  death  and  time. 

Thus  afflicted,  bruised,  and  broken, 

Have  you  known  such  sweet  relief? 
Yes,  my  friend  ;  and  by  this  token, 

You  have  felt  "THE  JOY  OF  GRIEF." 


TTIE  BATTLE  OF  ALEXANDRIA. 

At  Thebes,  In  Ancient  Reynt,  wn«  erected  a  Rtitnp  of  Memnon,  with  n  harp  In 
hi<  hand,  wlm  hi*  «aid  !<•  luve  miled  wiihdelinlitful  inu*ic  the  ruling  »un,  nnd 
In  melancholy  tone*  to  h  ive  mourned  hi»  deimrture.  The  Introduction  of  Ihii 
celebrated  l,yre,on  n  modern  occasion,  will  be  cen»iiri>d  nt  an  anachronism  bjf 
thOM  only  who  think  that  it*  chord*  have  been  touclfd  mukilfully. 

HARP  of  Memnon  !  sweetly  strung 

To  the  music  of  the  spheres ; 
While  the  HKKO'S  dirge  is  sung, 

Breathe  enchantment  to  our  ears. 

As  the  SUN'B  descending  beams, 

Glancing  o'er  thy  feeling  wire, 
Kindle  every  chord  that  gleams, 

Like  a  ray  of  heavenly  fire : 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Let  thy  numbers,  soft  and  slow, 
O'er  the  plain  with  carnage  spread, 

Soothe  the  dying-  while  they  flow 
To  the  memory  of  the  dead. 

Bright  as  Beauty,  newly  born, 
Blushing  at  her  maiden  charms  ; 

Fresh  from  Ocean  rose  the  Morn, 
When  the  trumpet  blew  to  arms. 

Terrible  soon  grew  the  light 
On  the  Egyptian  battle-plain, 

As  the  darkness  of  that  night, 
When  the  eldest  born  was  slain. 

Lash'd  to  madness  by  the  wind, 

As  the  Red  Sea  surges  roar, 
Leave  a  gloomy  gulf  behind, 

And  devour  the  shrinking  shore ; 

Thus,  with  overwhelming  pride, 

GALLIA'S  brightest,  boldest  boast, 
In  a  deep  and  dreadful  tide, 

RoII'd  upon  the  BRITISH  host. 
Dauntless  these  their  station  held, 

Though  with  unextinguish'd  ire 
GALLIA'S  legions,  thrice  repell'd, 

Thrice  return'd  through  blood  and  fire. 
Thus,  above  the  storms  of  time, 

Towering  to  the  sacred  spheres, 
Stand  the  Pyramids  sublime, — 

Rocks  amid  the  flood  of  years. 
Now  the  veteran  CHIEF  drew  nigh, 

Conquest  towering  on  his  crest, 
Valour  beaming  from  his  eye, 

Pity  bleeding  in  his  breast. 

BRITAIN  saw  him  thus  advance 
In  her  Guardian- Angel's  form ; 

But  he  lower'd  on  hostile  FRANCE, 
Like  the  Demon  of  the  Storm. 


THE   BATTLE    OF   ALEXANDRIA. 


On  the  whirlwind  of  the  war 
High  he  rode  in  vengeance  dire ; 

To  his  friends  a  leading  star, 
To  his  foes  consuming  fire. 

Then  the  mighty  pour'd  their  breath, 
Slaughter  feasted  on  the  brave  ! 

'Twas  the  Carnival  of  Death ; 
'Twas  the  Vintage  of  the  Grave. 

Charged  with  ABERCROMBIE'S  doom, 
Lightning  wing'd  a  cruel  ball : 

'Twas  the  Herald  of  the  Tomb, 
And  the  HERO  felt  the  call — 

Felt — and  raised  his  arm  on  high ; 

Victory  well  the  signal  knew, 
Darted  from  his  awful  eye, 

And  the  force  of  FRANCE  o'erthrew. 

But  the  horrors  of  that  fight, 
Were  the  weeping  MUSE  to  tell, 

Oh  'twould  cleave  the  womb  of  night, 
And  awake  the  dead  that  fell ! 

Gash'd  with  honourable  scars, 
Low  in  Glory's  lap  they  lie ; 

Though  they  fell,  they  fell  like  stars, 
Streaming  splendour  through  the  sky. 

Yet  shall  Memory  mourn  that  day, 
When,  with  expectation  pale, 

Of  her  soldier  far  away 

The  poor  widow  hears  the  tale. 

In  imagination  wild, 

She  shall  wander  o'er  this  plain, 
Rave, — and  bid  her  orphan-child 

Seek  his  sire  among  the  slain. 

Gently,  from  the  western  deep, 
O  ye  evening  breezes,  rise  ! 

18* 


~=s 


«10  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

O'er  the  Lyre  of  MEMNON  sweep, 
Wake  its  spirit  with  your  sighs. 

Harp  of  MEMNON  !  sweetly  strung 
To  the  music  of  the  spheres ; 

While  the  HERO'S  dirge  is  sung, 
Breathe  enchantment  to  our  ears. 

Let  thy  numbers  soft  and  slow 

O'er  the  plain  with  carnage  spread, 

Soothe  the  dying  while  they  flow 
To  the  memory  of  the  dead. 

None  but  solemn,  tender  tones 

Tremble  from  thy  plaintive  wires : 

Hark  !  the  wounded  WARRIOR  groans : 
Hush  thy  warbling ! — he  expires. 

Hush  ! — while  Sorrow  wakes  and  weeps ; 

O'er  his  relics  cold  and  pale, 
Night  her  silent  vigil  keeps, 

In  a  mournful  moonlight  vale. 

Harp  of  MEMNON  !  from  afar, 
Ere  the  lark  salute  the  sky, 

Watch  the  rising  of  the  star 

That  proclaims  the  morning  nigh. 

Soon  the  Sun's  ascending  rays, 

In  a  flood  of  hallow'd  fire, 
O'er  thy  kindling  chords  shall  blaze, 

And  thy  magic  soul  inspire. 

Then  thy  tones  triumphant  pour, 
Let  them  pierce  the  HERO'S  grave ; 

Life's  tumultuous  battle  o'er, 
Oh  how  sweetly  sleep  the  brave  ! 

From  the  dust  their  laurels  bloom, 
High  they  shoot  and  flourish  free; 

Glory's  Temple  is  the  tomb ; 
Death  is  immortality. 

1801. 


THE    PILLOW.  Ill 


THE  PILLOW 

THE  head  that  oft  this  PILLOW  press'd, 
That  aching  head,  is  gone  to  rest ; 
Its  little  pleasures  now  no  more, 
And  all  its  mighty  sorrows  o'er, 
For  ever,  in  the  worm's  dark  bed, 
FOF  ever  sleeps  that  humble  head  ! 

MY  FRIEND  was  young,  the  world  was  new; 
The  world  was  false,  MY  FRIEND  was  true ; 
Lowly  his  lot,  his  birth  obscure, 
His  fortune  hard,  MY  FRIEND  was  poor ; 
To  wisdom  he  had  no  pretence, 
A  child  of  suffering,  not  of  sense ; 
For  NATURE  never  did  impart 
A  weaker  or  a  warmer  heart. 
His  fervent  soul,  a  soul  of  flame, 
Consumed  its  frail  terrestrial  frame  ; 
That  fire  from  Heaven  so  fiercely  burn'd, 
That  whence  it  came  it  soon  return'd : 
And  yet,  O  PILLOW  !  yet  to  me, 
My  gentle  FRIEND  survives  in  thee  ; 
In  thee,  the  partner  of  his  bed, 
In  thee,  the  widow  of  the  dead. 

On  HKLICON'S  inspiring  brink, 
Ere  yet  MY  FRIKND  had  lenrn'd  to  think, 
Once  as  he  pass'd  the  careless  day 
Among  the  whispering  reeds  at  play, 
The  MUSE  of  SORROW  wander'd  by ; 
Her  pensive  beauty  fix'd  his  eye ; 
With  sweet  astonishment  he  smiled  ; 
The  Gipsy  saw— she  stole  the  child ; 
And  soft  on  her  ambrosial  breast 
Sang  the  delighted  babe  to  rest ; 
Convey'd  him  to  her  inmost  grove, 
A.nd  loved  him  with  a  Mother's  love. 


tit  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Awaking  from  his  rosy  nap, 
And  gaily  sporting  on  her  lap, 
His  wanton  fingers  o'er  her  lyre 
Twinkled  like  electric  fire  : 
Quick  and  quicker  as  they  flew, 
Sweet  and  sweeter  tones  they  drew ; 
Now  a  bolder  hand  he  flings, 
And  dives  among  the  deepest  strings ; 
Then  forth  the  music  brake  like  thunder ; 
Back  he  started,  wild  with  wonder. 
The  MUSE  OF  SORROW  wept  for  joy, 
And  clasp'd  and  kiss'd  her  chosen  boy. 

Ah  !  then  no  more  his  smiling  hours 
Were  spent  in  Childhood's  Eden-bowers ; 
The  fall  from  Infant-innocence, 
The  fall  to  knowledge  drives  us  thence : 
O  Knowledge  !  worthless  at  the  price, 
Bought  with  the  loss  of  PARADISE. 
As  happy  ignorance  declined, 
And  reason  rose  upon  his  mind, 
Romantic  hopes  and  fond  desires 
(Sparks  of  the  soul's  immortal  fires) 
Kindled  within  his  breast  the  rage 
To  breathe  through  every  future  age, 
To  clasp  the  flitting  shade  of  fame, 
To  build  an  everlasting  name, 
O'erleap  the  narrow  vulgar  span, 
And  live  beyond  the  life  of  man. 

Then  NATURE'S  charms  his  heart  possess'd, 
And  NATURE'S  glory  fill'd  his  breast : 
The  sweet  Spring-morning's  infant  rays, 
Meridian  Summer's  youthful  blaze, 
Maturer  Autumn's  evening  mild, 
And  hoary  Winter's  midnight  wild, 
Awoke  his  eye,  inspired  his  tongue ; 
For  every  scene  he  loved,  he  sung. 
Rude  were  his  songs,  and  simple  truth, 
Till  Boyhood  blossom'd  into  Youth; 


Tlli.   PILLOW.  HI 


Then  nobler  themes  his  fancy  fired, 

To  bolder  flights  his  soul  aspired ; 

And  as  the  new  moon's  opening  eye 

Broadens  and  brightens  through  the  sky, 

From  the  dim  streak  of  western  light 

To  the  full  orb  that  rules  the  night ; 

Thus,  gathering  lustre  in  its  race, 

And  shining  through  unbounded  space, 

From  earth  to  heaven  his  GENIUS  soar'd, 

Time  and  eternity  explored, 

And  hail'd,  where'er  its  footsteps  trod, 

In  NATURE'S  temple,  NATURE'S  God : 

Or  pierced  the  human  breast  to  scan 

The  hidden  majtjsty  of  Man  ; 

Man's  hidden  weakness  too  descried, 

His  glory,  grandeur,  meanness,  pride : 

Pursued  along  their  erring  course 

The  streams  of  passion  to  their  source  ; 

Or  in  the  mind's  creation  sought 

New  stars  of  fancy,  worlds  of  thought. 

— Yet  still  through  all  his  strains  would  flow 

A  tone  of  uncomplaining  wo, 

Kind  as  the  tear  in  Pity's  eye, 

Soft  as  the  slumbering  Infant's  sigh, 

So  sweetly,  exquisitely  wild, 

It  spake  the  MUSE  OF  SORROW'S  child. 

O  PILLOW  !  then,  when  light  withdrew, 
To  thee  the  fond  enthusiast  flew; 
On  thee,  in  pensive  mood  reclined, 
He  pour'd  his  contemplative  mind, 
Till  o'er  his  eyes  with  mild  control 
Sleep  like  a  soft  enchantment  stole, 
Charm'd  into  life  his  airy  schemes, 
And  realized  his  waking  dreams. 

Soon  from  those  waking  dreams  he  woke, 
The  fairy  spell  of  fancy  broke  ; 
In  vain  he  breathed  a  soul  of  fire 
Through  every  chord  that  strung  his  lyre. 


114  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


No  friendly  echo  cheer'd  his  tongue ; 
Amidst  the  wilderness  he  sung ; 
Louder  and  bolder  bards  were  crown'd, 
Whose  dissonance  his  music  drovvn'd : 
The  public  ear,  the  public  voice, 
Despised  his  song,  denied  his  choice, 
Denied  a  name, — a  life  in  death, 
Denied — a  bubble  and  a  breath. 

Stript  of  his  fondest,  dearest  claim, 
And  disinherited  of  fame, 
To  thee,  O  PILLOW  !  thee  alone, 
He  made  his-silent  anguish  known; 
His  haughty  spirit  scorn'd  the  blow 
That  laid  his  high  ambition  low ; 
But,  ah  !  his  looks  assumed  in  vain 
A  cold,  ineffable  disdain, 
While  deep  he  cherish'd  in  his  breast 
The  scorpion  that  consumed  his  rest. 

Yet  other  secret  griefs  had  he, 
O  PILLOW  !  only  told  to  thee  : 
Say,  did  not  hopeless  love  intrude 
On  his  poor  bosom's  solitude  ? 
Perhaps  on  thy  soft  lap  reclined, 
In  dreams  the  cruel  FAIR  was  kind, 
That  more  intensely  he  might  know 
The  bitterness  of  waking  wo. 

Whate'er  those  pangs  from  me  conceal'd, 
To  thee  in  midnight  groans  reveal'd, 
They  stung  remembrance  to  despair : 
"  A  wounded  spirit  who  can  bear  !" 
Meanwhile  disease,  with  slow  decay, 
Moulder'd  his  feeble  frame  away ; 
And  as  bis  evening  sun  declined, 
The  shadows  deepen'd  o'er  his  mind. 
What  doubts  and  terrors  then  possess'd 
The  dark  dominion  of  his  breast ! 
How  did  delirious  fancy  dwell 
On  Madness  Suicide,  and  Hell ! 


TO    THE   VOLUNTEERS    OF   BRITAIN. 


There  was  on  earth  no  POWER  to  save : 

But,  as  he  shudder' d  o'er  the  grave, 

He  saw  from  realms  of  light  descend 
The  friend  of  him  who  has  no  friend, 
RELIGION  ! — Her  almighty  breath 
Rebuked  the  winds  and  waves  of  death ; 
She  bade  the  storm  of  frenzy  cease, 
And  smiled  a  cairn,  and  whisper'd  peace : 
Amidst  that  calm  of  sweet  repose, 
To  HEAVEN  his  gentle  Spirit  rose. 

1803. 


ODE 
TO   THE    VOLUNTEERS  OF   BRITAIN 

ON  THE   PROSPECT  OF   INVASION. 

O  FOR  the  death  of  those 

Who  for  their  country  die, 
Sink  on  her  bosom  to  repose, 

And  triumph  where  they  lie ! 

How  beautiful  in  death 

The  WARRIOR'S  corse  appears, 
Embalm'd  by  fond  AFFECTION'S  breath, 

And  bathed  in  WOMAN'S  tears  ! 

Their  loveliest  native  earth 

Enshrines  the  fallen  brave ; 
In  the  dear  land  that  gave  them  birth 

They  find  their  tranquil  grave. 

But  the  wild  waves  shall  sweep 

BRITANNIA'S  foes  away, 
And  the  blue  monsters  of  the  deep 

Be  surfeited  with  prey. — ' 

No ! — they  have  'scaped  the  waves, 
'Scuped  the  sea-monsters'  maws ; 


«•  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS 

They  come  !  but  oh  !  shall  GALLIC  SLAVES 
Give  ENGLISH  FREEMEN  laws  ? 

By  ALFRED'S  Spirit,  No ! 

— Ring,  ring  the  loud  alarms  ; 
Ye  drums,  awake  !  ye  clarions,  blow ! 

Ye  heralds,  shout  "  To  arms  !" 

To  arms  our  Heroes  fly ; 

And,  leading  on  their  lines, 
The  BRITISH  BANNER  in  the  sky, 

The  star  of  conquest  shines. 

The  lowering  battle  forms 

Its  terrible  array  ; 
Like  clashing  clouds  in  mountain-storms. 

That  thunder  on  their  way  : — 

The  rushing  armies  meet ; 

And  while  they  pour  their  breath, 
The  strong  earth  shudders  at  their  feet, 

The  day  grows  dim  with  death. 

— Ghosts  of  the  mighty  dead ! 

Your  children's  hearts  inspire  ; 
And  while  they  on  your  ashes  tread, 

Rekindle  all  your  fire. 

The  dead  to  life  return  ; 

Our  Fathers'  spirits  rise ; 
— My  brethren,  in  YOUR  breasts  they  burn, 

They  sparkle  in  YOUR  eyes. 

Now  launch  upon  the  foe 

The  lightning  of  your  rage  ; 
Strike,  strike  the  assailing  giants  low, 

The  TITANS  of  the  age. 

They  yield, — they  break, — they  fly ; 

The  victory  is  won  : 
Pursue  ! they  faint, — they  fall, — they  die 

Oh,  stay ! the  work  is  done. 


TO    TH2    VOLUNTEERS   OF    BRITAIN.  9P 

SPIRIT  OF  VENGEANCE  !  rest : 

Sweet  MERCY  cries,  "  Forbear  !" 
She  clasps  the  vanquish'd  to  her  breast ; 

Thou  wilt  not  pierce  them  there  ? 

Thus  vanish  BRITAIN'S  foes 

From  her  consuming  eye ; 
But  rich  be  the  reward  of  those 

Who  conquer, those  who  die. 

O'ershadowing  laurels  deck 

The  living  HERO'S  brows; 
But  lovelier  wreaths  entwine  his  neck, 

— His  children  and  his  spouse. 

Exulting  o'er  his  lot, 

The  dangers  he  has  braved, 
He  clasps  the  dear  ones,  hails  the  cot, 

Which  his  own  valour  saved. 

DAUGHTERS  OF  ALBION,  weep  : 

On  this  triumphant  plain, 
Your  fathers,  husbands,  brethren  sleep, 

For  you  and  freedom  slain. 

Oh  !  gently  close  the  eye  • 

That  loved  to  look  on  you  ; 
Oh  !  seal  the  lip  whose  earliest  sigh, 

Whose  latest  breath  was  true  : 

With  knots  of  sweetest  flowers 

Their  winding-sheet  perfume ; 
And  wash  their  wounds  with  true-love  showers, 

And  dress  them  for  the  tomb. 

For  beautiful  in  death 

The  WARRIOR'S  corse  appears, 
Embalm'd  by  fond  AFFECTION'S  breath, 

And  bathed  in  WOMAN'S  tears. 

Give  me  the  death  of  those 
Who  for  their  country  die ; 

19 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


1604 


And  oh  !  be  mine  like  their  repose, 
When  cold  and  low  they  lie  ! 

Their  loveliest  mother  Earth 
Enshrines  the  fallen  brave  ; 

In  her  sweet  lap  who  gave  them  birth 
They  find  their  tranquil  grave. 


THE  VIGIL  OF  ST.  MARK. 

RETURNING  from  their  evening  walk, 

On  yonder  ancient  stile, 
In  sweet,  romantic,  tender  talk, 

Two  lovers  paused  awhile  :          , 

EDMUND,  the  monarch  of  the  dale, 
All  conscious  of  his  powers  ; 

ELLA,  the  lily  of  the  vale, 

The  rose  of  AUBURN'S  bowers. 

In  airy  Love's  delightful  bands 

He  held  her  heart  in  vain  : 
The  Nymph  denied  her  willing  hands 

To  HYMEN'S  awful  chain. 

"Ah!  why,"  said  he,  "our  bliss  delay? 

Min  3  ELLA,  why  so  cold  ? 
Those  who  but  love  from  day  to  day, 

From  day  to  day  grow  old. 

"The  bounding  arrow  cleaves  the  sky, 

Nor  leaves  a  trace  behind ; 
And  single  lives  like  arrows  fly, 

— They  vanish  through  the  wind. 

"  In  Wedlock's  sweet  endearin^  lot, 

O  * 

Let  us  improve  the  scene, 
That  some  may  be,  when  we  are  not. 
To  tell — that  we  have  been." 


THE    VIGIL    OF    ST.    MARK.  2If 


"  'Tis  now,"  replied  the  village  Belle, 
"  St.  Mark's  mysterious  Eve ; 

And  all  that  old  traditions  tell 
I  tremblingly  believe  ; — 

"  How,  when  the  midnight  signal  tolls, 

Along  the  churchyard  green 
A  mournful  train  of  sentenced  souls 

In  winding-sheets  are  seen. 

"  The  ghosts  of  all  whom  death  shall  doom 

Within  the  coming  year, 
In  pale  procession  walk  the  gloom, 

Amid  the  silence  drear. 

"  If  EDMUND,  bold  in  conscious  might, 

By  love  severely  tried, 
Can  brave  the  terrors  of  to-night, 

ELLA  will  be  his  bride." 

She  spake, — and,  like  the  nimble  fawn, 
From  EDMUND'S  presence  fled : 

He  sought,  across  the  rural  lawn, 
The  dwelling  of  the  dead ; — 

That  silent,  solemn,  simple  spot, 
The  mouldering  realm  of  peace, 

Where  human  passions  are  forgot, 
Where  human  follies  cease. 

The  gliding  moon  through  heaven  serene 

Pursued  her  tranquil  way, 
And  shed  o'er  all  the  sleeping  scene 

A  soft  nocturnal  day. 

With  swelling  heart  and  eager  feet 
Young  EDMUND  gain'd  the  church, 

And  chose  his  solitary  seat 
Within  the  dreadful  porch. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Thick,  threatening  clouds  assembled  soon, 
Their  dragon  wings  display 'd ; 

Eclipsed  the  slow  retiring  moon, 
And  quench'd  the  stars  in  shade. 

Amid  the  deep  abyss  of  gloom 

No  ray  of  beauty  smiled, 
Save,  glistening  o'er  some  haunted  tomb, 

The  glow-worm's  lustre  wild. 

The  village  watch-dogs  bay'd  around, 
The  long  grass  whistled  drear, 

The  steeple  trembled  to  the  ground, 
Ev'n  EDMUND  quaked  with  fear. 

All  on  a  sudden  died  the  blast, 

Dumb  horror  chill'd  the  air, 
While  NATURE  seem'd  to  pause  aghast, 

In  uttermost  despair. 

— Twelve  times  the  midnight  herald  toll'd, 

As  oft  did  EDMUND  start ; 
For  every  stroke  fell  dead  and  cold 

Upon  his  fainting  heart. 

Then  glaring  through  the  ghastly  gloom. 

Along  the  churchyard  green, 
The  destined  victims  of  the  tomb 

In  winding-sheets  were  seen. 

In  that  strange  moment  EDMUND  stood, 

Sick  with  severe  surprise  ! 
While  creeping  horror  drank  his  blood, 

And  fix'd  his  flinty  eyes. 

He  saw  the  secrets  of  the  grave ; 

He  saw  the  face  of  DEATH  : 
No  pitying  poAver  appear'd  to  save — 

He  gasp'd  away  his  breath 


THE    VIGIL    OF    ST.    MARK.  *11 

Yet  still  the  scene  his  soul  beguiled, 

And  every  spectre  cast 
A  look,  unutterably  wild, 

On  EDMUND  as  they  pass'd. 

All  on  the  ground  entranced  he  lay ; 

At  length  the  vision  broke : 
— When,  lo ! — a  kiss,  as  cold  as  clay, 

The  slumbering  youth  awoke. 

That  moment  through  a  rifted  cloud, 

The  darting  moon  display 'd, 
Robed  in  a  melancholy  shroud, 

The  image  of  a  maid. 

Her  dusky  veil  aside  she  drew, 

And  show'd  a  face  most  fair : 
— "  My  Love  !  my  ELLA  !"  EDMUND  flew, 

And  clasp'd  the  yielding  air. 

"  Ha !  who  art  thou  ?"  His  cheek  grew  pale ; 

A  well-known  voice  replied, 
"  ELLA,  the  lily  of  the  vale  ; 

ELLA — thy  destined  bride." 

To  win  his  neck  her  airy  arms 

The  pallid  phantom  spread  ; 
Recoiling  from  her  blasted  charms, 

The  affrighted  lover  fled. 

To  shun  the  visionary  maid, 

His  speed  outstript  the  wind  ; 
But, — though  unseen  to  move, — the  shade 
t  Was  evermore  behind. 

So  DEATH'S  unerring  arrows  glide, 

Yet  seem  suspended  still ; 
Nor  pause,  nor  shrink,  nor  turn  aside 

But  smite,  subdue,  and  kill. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


O'er  many  a  mountain,  moor,  and  vale, 

On  that  tremendous  night, 
The  ghost  of  ELLA,  wild  and  pale, 

Pursued  her  Wet's  flight. 

But  when  the  dawn  began  to  gleam, 
Ere  yet  the  morning  shone, 

She  vanish'd  like  a  nightmare-dream, 
And  EDMUND  stood  alone. 

Three  days,  bewilder'd  and  forlorn, 
He  sought  his  home  in  vain  ; 

At  length  he  hail'd  the  hoary  thorn 
That  crown'd  his  native  plain. 

'Twas  evening ; — all  the  air  was  balm, 
The  heavens  serenely  clear ; 

When  the  soft  music  of  a  psalm  * 
Came  pensive  o'er  his  ear. 

Then  sunk  his  heart ; — a  strange  surmise 
Made  all  his  blood  run  cold : 

He  flew, — a  funeral  met  his  eyes : 
He'  paused, — a  death-bell  toll'd. 

"  'Tis  she  !  'tis  she  !" — He  bursts  away ; 

And  bending  o'er  the  spot 
Where  all  that  once  was  ELLA  lay, 

He  all  beside  forgot. 

A  maniac  now,  in  dumb  despair, 

With  love-bewilder'd  mien, 
He  wanders,  weeps,  and  watches  there, 

Among  the  hillocks  green. 

And  every  Eve  of  pale  St.  MARK, 

As  village  hinds  relate, 
He  walks  with  ELLA  in  the  dark, 

And  reads  th«j  rolls  of  Fate 
irw. 


HANNAH. 


HANNAH. 

AT  fond  sixteen  my  roving  heart 
Was  pierced  by  Love's  delightful  dart : 
Keen  transport  throbb'd  through  every  vein, 
—I  never  felt  so  sweet  a  pain  ! 

Where  circling  woods  embower'd  the  glade, 
I  met  the  dear  romantic  maid : 
I  stole  her  hand, — it  shrunk, — but  no ; 
I  would  not  let  my  captive  go. 

With  all  the  fervency  of  youth, 
While  passion  told  the  tale  of  truth, 
I  mark'd  my  HANNAH'S  downcast  eye — 
'Twas  kind,  but  beautifully  shy : 

Not  with  a  warmer,  purer  ray, 
The  sun,  enamour'd,  woos  young  May  ; 
Nor  May,  with  softer  maiden  grace, 
Turns  from  the  sun  her  blushing  face. 

But,  swifter  than  the  frighted  dove, 
Fled  the  gay  morning  of  my  love ; 
Ah  !  that  so  bright  a  morn,  so  soon 
Should  vanish  in  so  dark  a  noon. 

The  angel  of  Affliction  rose, 
And  in  his  grasp  a  thousand  woes ; 
He  pour'd  his  vial  on  my  head, 
And  all  the  heaven  of  rapture  fled. 

Yet,  in  the  glory  of  my  pride, 

I  stood, — and  all  his  wrath  defied ; 

I  stood, — though  whirlwinds  shook  my  brain, 

ind  lightnings  cleft  my  soul  in  twain. 


tM  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

I  shunn'd  my  nymph ; — and  knew  not  why 
I  durst  not  meet  her  gentle  eye  ; 
I  shunn'd  her,  for  I  could  not  hear 
To  marry  her  to  my  despair. 

Yet,  sick  at  heart  with  hope  delay'd, 
Oft  the  dear  image  of  that  maid 
Glanced,  like  the  rainbow,  o'er  my  mind, 
And  promised  happiness  behind. 

The  storm  blew  o'er,  and  in  my  breast 
The  halcyon  Peace  rebuilt  her  nest : 
The  storm  blew  o'er,  and  clear  and  mild 
The  sea  of  Youth  and  Pleasure  smiled. 

'Twas  on  the  merry  morn  of  May, 
To  HANNAH'S  cot  I  took  my  way : 
My  eager  hopes  were  on  the  wing, 
Like  swallows  sporting  in  the  spring. 

Then  as«I  climb'd  the  mountains  o'er, 
I  lived  my  wooing  days  once  more  ; 
And  fancy  sketch'd  my  married  lot, 
My  wife,  my  children,  and  my  cot. 

I  saw  the  village  steeple  rise, — 
My  soul  sprang,  sparkling,  in  my  eyes 
The  rural  bells  rang  sweet  and  clear, — 
My  fond  heart  listen'd  in  mine  ear 

I  reach'd  the  hamlet : — all  was  gay  ; 

I  love  a  rustic  holy  day  : 

I  met  a  wedding, — stepp'd  aside  ; 

It  pass'd, — my  HANNAH  was  the  bride. 

There  is  a  grief  that  cannot  feel ; 

It  leaves  a  wound  that  will  not  heal ; 

My  heart  grew  cold, — it  felt  not  then ; 

When  shall  it  cease  to  feel  again  ? 

.801 


A    FIELD    FLOWER. 


A  FIELD  FLOWER. 

ON   FINDING   ONE   IN    FDLL   BLOOM,    OW    CHRISTMAS  DAT,    1803. 

THERE  is  a  flower,  a  little  flower, 
With  silver  crest  and  golden  eye, 

That  welcomes  every  changing  h6ur, 
And  weathers  every  sky. 

The  prouder  beauties  of  the  field 
In  gay  buj  quick  succession  shine, 

Race  after  race  their  honours  yield, 
They  flourish  and  decline. 

But  this  small  flower,  to  Nature  dear, 
While  moons  and  stars  their  courses  run, 

Wreathes  the  whole  circle  of  the  year, 
Companion  of  the  Sun. 

It  smiles  upon  the  lap  of  May, 

To  sultry  August  spreads  its  charms, 

Lights  pale  October  on  his  way, 

And  twines  December's  arms.  • 

The  purple  heath  and  golden  broom 
On  moory  mountains  catch  the  gale, 

O'er  lawns  the  lily  sheds  perfume, 
The  violet  in  the  vale. 

But  this  bold  floweret  climbs  the  hill, 
Hides  in  the  forest,  haunts  the  glen, 

Plays  on  the  margin  of  the  rill, 
Peeps  round  the  fox's  den. 

Within  the  garden's  cultured  round 
It  shares  the  sweet  carnation's  bed ; 

And  blooms  on  consecrated  ground 
In  honour  of  the  dead. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


The  lambkin  crops  its  crimson  gem, 
The  wild-bee  murmurs  on  its  breast, 

The  blue-fly  b^nds  its  pensile  stem, 
Light  o'er  the  sky-lark's  nest. 

'Tis  FLORA'S  page  ; in  every  place, 

In  every  season  fresh  and  fair, 

It  opens  with  perennial  grace, 
And  blossoms  every  where. 

On  waste  and  woodland,  rock  and  plain, 
Its  humble  buds  unheeded  rise  ; 

The  Rose  has  but  a  summer-reign, 
The  DAISY  never  dies. 


THE  SNOW-DROP. 

WINTER,  retire, 

Thy  reign  is  past ; 

Hoary  Sire, 

Yield  the  sceptre  of  thy  sway, 

Sound  thy  trumpet  in  the  blast, 

And  call  thy  storms  away. 

Winter,  retire ; 

Wherefore  do  thy  wheels  delay  ? 

Mount  the  chariot  of  thine  ire, 

And  quit  the  realms  of  day ; 

On  thy  state 

Whirlwinds  wait;. 

And  blood-shot  meteors  lend  thee  light ; 

Hence  to  dreary  arctic  regions 

Summon  thy  terrific  legions  ; 

Hence  to  caves  of  northern  night 

Speed  thy  flight. 

From  halcyon  seas 
And  purer  skies, 
O  southern  breeze ! 
Awake,  arise : 


THE    SNOW-DROP. 


Breath  of  heaven,  benignly  blow, 

Melt  the  snow : 

Breath  of  heaven,  unchain  the  floods, 

Warm  the  woods, 

And  make  the  mountains  flow. 

Auspicious  to  the  Muse's  prayer, 

The  freshening  gaJe 

Embalms  the  vale, 

And  breathes  enchantment  through  ihe  air; 

On  its  wing 

Floats  the  Spring, 

With  glowing  eye,  and  golden  hair: 

Dark  before  her  Angel-form 

She  drives  the  demon  of  the  storm, 

Like  Gladness  chasing  Care. 

Winter's  gloomy  night  withdrawn, 
Lo !  the  young  romantic  Hours 
Search  the  hill,  the  dale,  the  lawn, 
To  behold  the  SNOW-DROP  white 
Start  to  light, 

And  shine  in  FLORA'S  desert  bowers, 
Beneath  the  vernal  dawn, 
The  Morning  Star  of  Flowers. 

Oh  !  welcome  to  our  isle, 

Thou  Messenger  of  Peace  ! 

At  whose  bewitching  smile 

The  embattled  tempests  cease  : 

Emblem  of  Innocence  and  Truth, 

First  born  of  Nature's  womb, 

When  strong  in  renovated  youth 

She  bursts  from  Winter's  tomb ; 

Thy  parent's  eye  hath  shed 

A  precious  dew-drop  on  thine  head, 

Frail  as  a  mother's  tear 

Upon  her  infant's  face, 

When  ardent  hope  to  tender  fear, 

And  anxious  love,  gives  place. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


But,  lo !  the  dew-drop  flits  away, 
The  sun  salutes  thee  with  a  ray 
Warm  as  a  mother's  kiss 
Upon  her  infant's  cheek, 
When  the  heart  bounds  with  bliss, 
And  joy  that  cannot. speak. 

When  I  meet  thee  by  the  way. 

Like  a  pretty  sportive  child, 

On  the  winter-wasted  wild, 

With  thy  darling  breeze  at  play, 

Opening  to  the  radiant  sky 

All  the  sweetness  of  thine  eye  ; 

— Or  bright  with  sunbeams,  fresh  with  showers. 

O  thou  Fairy-Queen  of  flowers  ! 

Watch  thee  o'er  the  plain  advance 

At  the  head  of  FLORA'S  dance  ; 

Simple  SNOW-DROP,  then  in  thee 

All  thy  sister-train  I  see  ; 

Every  brilliant  bud  that  blows, 

From  the  blue-bell  to  the  rose  ; 

All  the  beauties  that  appear 

On  the  bosom  of  the  Year, 

All  that  wreathe  the  locks  of  Spring, 

Summer's  ardent  breath  perfume, 

Or  on  the  lap  of  Autumn  bloom, 

— All  to  thee  their  tribute  bring, 

Exhale  their  incense  at  thy  shrine, 

— Their  hues,  their  odours,  all  are  thine, 

For  while  thy  humble  form  I  view, 

The  Muse's  keen  prophetic  sight 

Brings  fair  Futurity  to  light, 

And  Fancy's  magic  makes  the  vision  true. 

— There  is  a  Winter  in  my  soul, 

The  winter  of  despair  ; 

Oh,  when  shall  Spring  its  rage  control  ? 

When  shall  the  SNOW-DROP  blossom  there  * 

Cold  gleams  of  comfort  sometimes  dart 


AN    EPITAPH. 


A  dawn  of  glory  on  xny  heart, 

But  quickly  pass  away  : 

Thus  Northern-lights  the  gloom  adorn, 

And  give  the  promise  of  a  mom 

That  never  turns  to  day  ! 

But,  hark  !  methinks  I  hear 

A  still  small  whisper  in  mine  ear ; 
"  Rash  youth,  repent : 
Afflictions,  from  above, 
Are  angels  sent 
On  embassies  of  love. 
A  fiery  legion  at  thy  birth, 
.    Of  chastening  woes  were  given, 

To  pluck  the  flowers  of  hope  from  earth, 

And  plant  them  high 

O'er  yonder  sky, 

Transform'd  to  stars, — and  fix'd  in  heaven." 

1803. 


AN  EPITAPH. 

ART  thou  a  man  of  honest  mould, 

With  fervent  fyeart,  and  soul  sincere  ? 

A  husband,  father,  friend  ? — Behold, 
Thy  brother  slumbers  here. 

The  sun  that  wakes  yon  violet's  bloom, 
Once  cheer'd  his  eye,  now  dark  in  death, 

The  wind  that  wanders  o'er  his  tomb 
Was  once  his  vital  breath. 

The  roving  wind  shall  pass  away, 
The  warming  sun  forsake  the  sky ; 

Thy  brother,  in  that  dreadful  day, 
Shall  live  and  never  die. 


20 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE  OCEAN. 

WKITT2JT   AT   8CAKBOKOUGH,    IN   THE   SUMMER  OF    1805. 

ALL  haU  to  the  ruins,*  the  rocks  and  the  shores ! 

Thou  wide-rolling  OCEAN,  all  hail ! 
Now  brilliant  with  sunbeams,  and  dimpled  with  oars, 

Now  dark  with  the  fresh-blowing  gale, 

While  soft  o'er  thy  bosom  the  cloud-shadows  sail, 
And  the  silver  wing'd  sea-fowl  on  high,  . 
Like  meteors  bespangle  the  sky, 
Or  dive  in  the  gulf,  or  triumphantly  ride 
Like  foam  on  the  surges,  the  swans  of  the  tide. 

• 
From  the  tumult  and  smoke  of  the  city  set  free, 

With  eager  and  awful  delight, 
From  the  crest  of  the  mountain  I  gaze  upon  thee  ; 

I  gaze, — and  am  changed  at  the  sight ; 

For  mine  eye  is  illumined,  my  Genius  takes  flight, 
My  soul,  like  the  sun,  with  a  glance 
Embraces  the  boundless  expanse, 
And  moves  on  thy  waters,  wherever  they  roll, 
From  the  day-darting  zone  to  the  njght-shadow'd  pole. 

My  spirit  descends  where  the  day-spring  is  born, 
Where  the  billows  are  rubies  on  fire, 

And  the  breezes  that  rock  the  light  cradle  of  morn 
Are  sweet  as  the  Phoenix's  pyre  : 
O  regions  of  beauty,  of  love,  and  desire  ! 

O  gardens  of  Eden  !  in  vain 

Placed  far  on  the  fathomless  main, 

Where  Nature  with  Innocence  dwelt  in  her  youth, 

When  pure  was  her  heart,  and  unbroken  her  truth. 

*  Scarborough  Castle. 


THE    OCEAN.  til 


But  now  the  fair  rivers  of  Paradise  wind 

Through  countries  and  kingdoms  o'erthrown: 

Where  the  giant  of  Tyranny  crushes  mankind, 
Where  he  reigns, — and  will  soon  reign  alone ; 
For  wide  and  more  wide,  o'er  the  sun-beaming  zone. 

He  stretches  his  hundred-fold  arms, 

Despoiling,  destroying  its  charms ; 

Beneath  his  broad  footstep  the  Ganges  is  dry, 

And  the  mountains  recoil  from  the  flash  of  his  eye. 

Thus  the  pestilent  Upas,  the  Demon  of  trees, 

Its  boughs  o'er  the  wilderness  spreads, 
And  with  livid  contagion  polluting  the  breeze, 

Its  mildewing  influence  sheds  : 

The  birds  on  the  wing,  and  the  flowers  in  their  beds, 
Are  slain  by  its  venomous  breath, 
That  darkens  the  noonday  with  death ; 
And  pale  ghosts  of  travellers  wander  abound, 
While  their  mouldering  skeletons  whiten  the  ground. 

Ah!  why  hath  JEHOVAH,  in  forming  the  world, 
With  the  waters  divided  the  land, 

His  ramparts  of  rocks  round  the  continent  hurl'd, 
And  cradled  the  Deep  in  his  hand, 
If  man  may  transgress  his  eternal  command, 

And  leap  o'er  the  bounds  of  his  birth, 

To  ravage  the  uttermost  earth, 

And  violate  nations  and  realms  that  should  be 

Distinct  as  the  billows,  yet  one  as  the  sea  ? 

There  are,  gloomy  OCEAN  !  a  brothcrless  clan, 

Who  traverse  thy  banishing  waves 
The  poor  disinherited  outcasts  of  man, 

Whom  Avarice  coins  into  slaves: 

From  the  homes  of  their  kindred,  their  forefathers'  graves. 
Love,  friendship,  and  conjugal  bliss, 
They  are  dragg'd  on  the  hoary  abyss  ; 
The  shark  hears  their  shrieks,  and,  ascending  to  day, 
Demands  of  the  spoiler  his  sharo  of  the  prey 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Then  joy  to  the  tempest  that  whelms  them  beneath, 

And  makes  their  destruction  its  sport ! 
But  wo  to  the  winds  that  propitiously  breathe, 

And  waft  them  in  safety  to  port, 

Where  the  vultures  and  vampires  of  Mammon  resort ; 
Where  Europe  exultingly  drains 
The  life-blood  from  Africa's  veins ; 
Where  man  rules  o'er  man  with  a  merciless  rod, 
And  spurns  at  his  footstool  the  image  of  God  ! 

The  hour  is  approaching, — a  terrible  hour ! 
And  Vengeance  is  bending  her  bow ; 

Already  the  clouds  of  the  hurricane  lour, 
And  the  rock-rending  whirlwinds  blow: 
Back  rolls  the  huge  OCEAN,  Hell  opens  below : 

The  floods  return  headlong, — they  sweep 

The  slave-cultured  lands  to  the  deep  ; 

In  a  moment  entomb'd  in  the  horrible  void, 

By  their  Maker  Himself  in  his  anger  destroy'd  ! 

Shall  this  be  the  fate  of  the  cane-planted  isles, 

More  lovely  than  clouds  in  the  west, 
When  the  sun  o'er  the  ocean  descending  in  smiles 

Sinks  softly  and  sweetly  to  rest  ? 

— NO  ! — Father  of  mercy  !  befriend  the  opprest: 
At  the  voice  of  thy  Gospel  of  peace 
May  the  sorrows  of  Africa  cease  ; 
And  the  slave  and  his  master  devoutly  unite 
To  walk  in  thy  freedom,  and  dwell  in  thy  light  !* 

As  homeward  my  weary-wing'd  Fancy  extends 
Her  star-lighted  course  through  the«kies, 

High  over  the  mighty  Atlantic  ascends, 
And  turns  upon  Europe  her  eyes  ; 
Ah  me  !  what  new  prospects,  new  horrors  arise  ! 


*  Alluding  to  thn  elorioiis  success  of  the  Moravian  Missionaries  among  the 
Negroes  iu  the  West  Indies. 


THE    OCEAN.  «33 


I  see  the  v/ar-tempested  flood 

.All  foaming,  and  panting  with  blood; 

The  panic-struck  OCEAN  in  agony  roars, 

Rebounds  from  the  battle,  and  flies  to  his  shores ; 

For  BRITANNIA  is  wielding  the  trident  to-day, 

Consuming  her  foes  in  her  ire, 
And  hurling  the  thunder  of  absolute  sway 

From  her  wave-ruling  chariots  of  fire  : 

— She  triumphs ; — the  winds  and  the  waters  conspire 
To  spread  her  invincible  name  ; 
—The  universe  rings  with  her  fame ; 
— But  the  cries  of  the  fatherless  mix  with  her  praise, 
And  the  tears  of  the  widow  are  shed  on  her  bays.* 

O  Britain  !  dear  Britain!  the  land  of  my  birth; 

O  Isle,  most  enchantingly  fair  ! 
Thou  Pearl  of  the  Ocean  !  Thou  Gem  of  the  Earth! 

O  my  Mother !  my  Mother !  beware  ; 

For  wealth  is  a  phantom,  and  empire  a  snare : 
O  let  not  thy  birthright  be  sold 
For  reprobate  glory  and  gold  ! 
Thy  distant  dominions  like  wild  graftings  shoot, 
They  weigh  down  thy  trunk — they  will  tear  up  thy  root  :- 

The  root  of  thine  OAK,  0  my  country  !  that  stands 
Rock-planted,  and  flourishing  free  ; 

Its  branches  are  stretch'd  o'er  the  uttermost  lands, 
And  its  shadow  eclipses  the  sea : 
The  blood  of  our  ancestors  nourish'd  the  tree: 

From  their  tombs,  from  their  ashes  it  sprung ; 

Its  boughs  with  their  trophies  are  hung ; 

Their  spirit  dwells  in  it : — and,  hark  !  for  it  spoke ; 

The  voice  of  our  fathers  ascends  from  their  Oak  : — 


•  While  lh«  nuth'T  win  medilnling  tlwie  mnnznvin  iieht  «'f  thp  rx  run  from 
the  northern  cliff*,  Inlelligonro  arrlvi-il  of  the  naval  victory  of  Kir  Hubert  Caldi  r, 
over  tho  French  a  id  *paiit»h  fleet*  off*  the  w  entern  couil  of  Spain. 

20* 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


"Ye  Britons,  who  dwell  where  we  conquer'd  of  old, 

Who  inherit  our  battle-field  graves  ; 
Though  poor  were  your  fathers, — gigantic  and  bold, 

We  were  not,  we  could  not  be  slaves; 

But  firm  as  our  rocks,  and  as  free  as  our  waves, 
The  spears  of  the  Romans  we  broke, 
We  never  stoop'd  under  their  yoke  ; 
In  the  shipwreck  of  nations  we  stood  up  alone, — 
The  world  was  great  CAESAR'S, — but  Britain  pur  own. 

"  For  ages  and  ages,  with  barbarous  foes, 

The  Saxon.  Norwegian,  and  Gaul, 
We  wrestled,  were  foil'd,  were  cast  down,  but  we  rose 

With  new  vigour,  new  life  from  each  fall ; 

By  all  we  ivere  conquer* d: — WE  CONQUER' D  THEM  ALL' 
— The  cruel,  the  cannibal  mind.    . 
.We  soften  d,  subdued,  and  refined  : 

Bears,  wolves,  and  sea  monsters,  they  rush'd  from  their  den; 
We  taught  them,  we  tamed  them,  \ve  turn'd  them  to  men. 

"Love  led  the  wild  hordes  in  his  flower-woven  bands, 

The  tenderest,  strongest  of  chains  : 
Love  married  our  hearts,  he  united  our  hands, 

And  mingled  the  blood  in  our  veins ; 

One  race  we  became  : — on  the  mountains  and  plains 
Where  the  wounds  of  our  country  were  closed, 
The  Ark  of  Religion  reposed, 
The  unquenchable  Altar  of  Liberty  blazed, 
And  the  Temple  of  Justice  in  Mercy  was  raised. 

'Ark,  Altar,  and  Temple,  we  left  with  our  breath! 
To  our  children,  a  sacred  bequest : 

O  guard  them,  O  keep  them,  in  life  and  in  death ! 
So  the  shades  of  your  fathers  shall  rest, 
And  your  spirits  with  ours  be  in  Paradise  blest: 

— Let  Ambition,  the  sin  of  the  brave, 

And  Avarice,  the  soul  of  a  slave, 

No  longer  seduce  your  affections  to  roam 

From  Liberty,  Justice,  Religion,  AT  HOME." 


THE    COMMON    LOT. 


THE  COMMON  LOT. 

A  Birthday  Meditation,  during  a  solinry  winter  walk,  of  seven  miles,  between 
a  village  in  Derbyshire  ami  Sheffield,  when  the  ground  was  covered  will 
•now,  the  sky  aer  /uu,  and  the  iiioriiing  air  intensely  pure. 

ONCE  in  the  flight  of  ages  past, 

There  lived  a  man : — and  WHO  was  HE  ? 

— Mortal !  howe'er  thy  lot  be  cast, 
That  Man  resembled  Thee 

Unknown  the  region  of  his  birth, 

The  land  in  which  he  died  unknown: 

His  name  has  perish'd  from  the  earth; 
This  truth  survives  alone : —  « 

That  joy  and  grief,  and  hope  and  fear, 

Alternate  triumph'd  in  his  breast ; 
His  bliss  and  wo, — a  smile,  a  tear ! 

— Oblivion  hides  the  rest. 

The  bounding  pulse,  the  languid  limb, 
The  changing  spirits'  rise  and  fall ; 

We  know  that  these  were  felt  by  him, 
For  these  are  felt  by  all. 

He  sufler'd, — but  his  pangs  are  o'er ; 

Enjoy'd, — but  his  delights  are  fled  ; 
Had  friends, — his  friends  are  now  no  more , 

And  foes, — his  foes  are  dead. 

He  loved,  but  whom  he  loved,  the  grave  -  , 

Hath  lost  in  its  unconscious  womb : 

Oh,  she  was  fair! — but  nought  could  save 
Her  beauty  from  the  tomb. 

He  saw  whatever  thou  hast  seen  ; 

Encounter'd  all  that  troubles  thee:  ' 

He  was — whatever  thou  hast  been ; 

He  is — what  thou  shall  be. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


The  rolling  seasons,  day  and  night, 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  the  earth  and  main, 

Erewhile  his  portion,  life  and  light, 
To  him  exist  in  vain. 

The  clouds  and  sunbeams,  o'er  his  eye 
That  once  their  shades  and  glory  threw 

Have  left  in  yonder  silent  sky 
No  vestige  where  they  flew. 

The  annals  of  the  human  race, 

Their  ruins,  since  the  world  began, 

Of  HIM  afford  no  other  trace 

Than  this, — THERE  LIVED  A  MAN  ! 


JVovember  4, 1805. 


THE  HARP  OF  SORROW. 

[  GAVE  my  Harp  to  Sorrow's  hand, 
And  she  has  ruled  the  chords  so  long, 

They  will  not  speak  at  my  command ; — 
They  warble  only  to  her  song. 

Of  dear,  departed  hours, 

Too  fondly  loved  to  last, 
The  dew,  the  breath,  the  bloom  of  flowers, 

Snapt  in  their  freshness  by  the  blast : 

Of  long,  long  years  of  future  care, 

Till  lingering  Nature  yields  her  breath, 

And  endless  ages  of  despair, 

Beyond  the  judgment-day  of  death: — 

The  weeping  Minstrel  sings  ; 

And  while  her  numbers  flow, 
My  spirit  trembles  with  the  strings, 

Responsive  to  the  notes  of  wo. 

Would  gladness  move  a  sprightlier  strain, 
And  wake  this  wild  Harp's  clearest  toneSj 


THE    HARP   OF    SORROW.  VI 

The  chords,  impatient  to  complain, 
Are  dumb,  or  only  utter  moans. 

And  yet,  to  soothe  the  mind 

With  luxury  of  grief, 
The  soul  to  suffering  all  resign'd 

In  sorrow's  music  feels  relief. 

Thus  o'er  the  light  ^Eolian  lyre 

The  winds  of  dark  November  stray 
Touch  the  quick  nerve  of  every  wire, 

And  on  its  magic  pulses  play  ; — 

Till  all  the  air  around, 

Mysterious  murmurs  fill, 
A  strange  bewildering  dream  of  sound, 

Most  heavenly  sweet, — yet  mournful  still. 

O !  snatch  the  Harp  from  Sorrow's  hand, 
Hope  !  who  hast  been  a  stranger  long ; 

O '.  strike  it  with  sublime  command, 
And  be  the  Poet's  life  thy  song. 

Of  vanish'd  troubles  sing, 

Of  fears  for  ever  fled, 
Of  flowers  that  hear  the  voice  of  Spring, 

And  burst  and  blossom  from  the  dead ; — 

Of  home,  contentment,  health,  repose, 
Serene  delights,  while  years  increase  ; 

And  weary  life's  triumphant  close 

In  some  calm  sunset  hour  of  peace  ; — 

Of  bliss  that  reigns  above, 

Celestial  May  of  Youth, 
Unchanging  as  JEHOVAH'S  lore, 

And  everlasting  as  his  truth : — 

Sing,  heavenly  hope ! — and  dart  thine  hand 
O'er  my  frail  Harp,  untuned  so  long ; 

That  Harp  shall  breathe,  at  thy  command, 
Immortal  sweetness  through  thy 


138  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Ah  !  then,  this  gloom  control, 
And  at  thy  voice  shall  start 

A  new  creation  in  my  soul, 
A  native  Eden  in  my  heart. 

1807. 


POPE'S  WILLOW. 

Written  for  an  Urn,  made  out  of  the  Trunk  of  the  Weeping  Willow,  imported 
from  the  East,  and  planted  by  Pope  in  his  grounds  al  Twickenham,  where  it 
flourished  many  years ;  but,  falling  into  decay,  it  was  lately  «ut  down. 

ERE  Pope  resign'd  his  tuneful  breath, 

And  made  the  turf  his  pillow, 
The  minstrel  hung  his  harp  in  death 

Upon  the  drooping  Willow ; 
That  Willow  from  Euphrates'  strand, 
Had  sprung  beneath  his  training  hand. 

Long  as  revolving  seasons  flew, 

From  youth  to  age  it  flourished, 
By  vernal  winds  and  starlight  dew, 

By  showers  and  sunbeams  nourish'd ; 
And  while  in  dust  the  Poet  slept, 
The  Willow  o'er  his  ashes  wept. 

Old  Time  beheld  its  silvery  head 

With  graceful  grandeur  towering, 
Its  pensile  boughs  profusely  spread, 

The  breezy  lawn  embowering, 
Till,  arch'd  around,  there  seem'd  to  shoot 
A  grove  of  scions  from  one  root. 

Thither,  at  summer  noon,  he  view'd 
The  lovely  Nine  retreating, 


POPE  S    WILLOW. 


Beneath  its  twilight  solitude 

With  songs  their  Poet  greeting, 
Whose  spirit  in  the  Willow  spoke, 
Like  Jove's  from  dark  Dodona's  oak. 

By  harvest  moonlight  there  he  spied 

The  fairy  bands  advancing ; 
Bright  Ariel's  troop,  on  Thames's  side, 

Around  the  Willow  dancing  ; 
Gay  sylphs  among  the  foliage  play'd, 
And  glow-worms  glitter'd  in  the  shade. 

One  morn,  while  Time  thus  mark'd  the  tree 

In  beauty  green  and  glorious, 
"The  hand,"  he  cried,  "that  planted  thee, 

O'er  mine  was  oft  victorious  ; 
Be  vengeance  now  my  calm  employ, — 
One  work  of  POPE'S  I  will  destroy." 

He  spake,  and  struck  a  silent  blow 
With  that  dread  arm,  whose  motion 

Lays  cedars,  thrones,  an,d  temples  low, 
And  wields  o'er  land  and  ocean 

The  unremitting  axe  of  doom, 

That  fells  the  forest  of  the  tomb. 

Deep  to  the  Willow's  root  it  went, 

And  cleft  the  core  asunder, 
Like  sudden,  secret  lightning,  sent 

Without  recording  thunder  : — 
— From  tha»  sad  moment,  slow  away 
Began  the  Willow  to  decay. 

In  vain  did  Spring  those  bowers  restore. 
Where  loves  and  graces  revcll'd, 

Autumn's  wild  gales  the  branches  tore, 
The  thin  gray  leaves  dishrvrll'd, 

And  every  wasting  Winter  found 

The  Willow  nearer  to  the  ground. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Hoary,  and  weak,  and  bent  with  age, 

At  length  the  axe  assail'd  it : 
It  bow'd  before  the  woodman's  rage  ; 

The  swans  of  Thames  bewail'd  it, 
With  softer  tones,  with  sweeter  breath, 
Than  ever  charm'd  the  ear  of  death. 

O  POPE  !  hadst  thou,  whose  iyre  so  long 
The  wondering  world  enchanted, 

Amidst  thy  paradise  of  song 
This  Weeping  Willow  planted  ; 

Among  thy  loftiest  laurels  seen, 

In  deathless  verse  for  ever  green, — 

Thy  chosen  Tree  had  stood  sublime, 

The  storms  of  ages  braving, 
Triumphant  o'er  the  wrecks  of  Time 

Its  verdant  banner  waving, 
While  regal  pyramids  decay'd, 
And  empires  perish 'd  in  its  shade. 

An  humbler  lot,  O  Tree  !  was  thine, 
—Gone  down  in  ali  thy  glory  ; 

The  sweet,  the  mournful  task  be  mine, 
To  sing  thy  simple  story  ; 

Though  verse  like  mine  in  vain  would  raise 

The  fame  of  thy  departed  days. 

Yet,  fallen  Willow  !  if  to  me 
Such  power  of  song  were  given, 

My  lips  should  breathe  a  soul  through  thee, 
And  call  down  fire  from  heaven, 

To  kindle  in  this  ballow'd  Urn 

A  flame  that  would  for  ever  burn 


1800. 


A   WALK    IN   SPRING.  HI 


A  WALK  IN  SPRING. 

I  WANDER'D  in  a  lonely  glade, 
Where,  issuing  from  the  forest  shade, 

A  little  mountain  stream 
Along  the  winding  valley  play'd, 

Beneath  the  morning  beam. 

Light  o'er  the  woods  of  dark  brown  oak 
The  west-wind  wreathed  the  hovering  smoke. 

From  cottage  roofs  conceal'd, 
Below  a  rock  abruptly  broke, 

In  rosy  light  re  veal' d. 

'Twas  in  the  infancy  of  May, — 
The  uplands  glow'd  in  green  array, 

While  from  the  ranging  eye 
The  lessening  landscape  stretch'd  away 

To  meet  the  bending  sky. 

'Tis  sweet  in  solitude  to  hear 
The  earliest  music  of  the  year, 

The  Blackbird's  loud  wild  note, 
Oi,  from  the  wintry  thicket  drear, 

The  Thrush's  stammering  throat. 

In  rustic  solitude  'tis  sweet 

The  earliest  flowers  of  Spring  to  greet,— 

The  violet  from  its  tomb, 
The  strawberry,  creeping  at  our  feet, 

The  sorrel's  simple  bloom. 

Wherefore  I  love  the  walks  of  Spring,— 
While  still  I  hear  new  warblers  sing, 

Fresh-opening  bells  I  see ; 
Joy  flits  on  every  roving  wing, 

Hope  buds  on  every  tree. 

31 


SO  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

That  morn  I  look'd  and  listen'd  long, 
Some  cheering  sight,  some  woodland  song, 

As  yet  unheard,  unseen, 
To  welcome,  with  remembrance  strong 

Of  days  that  once  had  been  ; — 

When  gathering  flowers,  an  eager  child, 
I  ran  abroad  with  rapture  wild ; 

Or,  on  more  curious  quest, 
Peep'd  breathless  through  the  copse,  and  smiled, 

To  see  the  linnet's  nest. 

Already  had  I  watch'd  the  flight 

Of  swallows  darting  through  the  light, 

And  mock'd  the  cuckoo's  call ; 
Already  view'd,  o'er  meadows  bright, 

The  evening  rainbow  fall. 

Now  in  my  walk,  with  sweet  surprise, 
I  saw  the  first  Spring  cowslip  rise, 

The  plant  whose  pensile  flowers 
Bend  to  the  earth  their  beauteous  eyes, 

In  sunshine  as  in  showers. 

Lone  on  a  mossy  bank  it  grew, 

Where  lichens,  purple,  white,  and  blue, 

Among  the  verdure  crept ; 
Its  yellow  ringlets,  dropping  dew, 

The  breezes  lightly  swept. 

A  bee  had  nestled  on  its  blooms, 
He  shook  abroad  their  rich  perfumes, 

Then  fled  in  airy  rings  ; 
His  place  a  butterfly  assumes, 

Glancing  his  glorious  wings. 

Oh,  welcome,  as  a  friend  !  I  cried ; 
A  friend  through  many  a  season  tried, 

Nor  ever  sought  in  vain, 
When  May,  with  Flora  at  her  side 

Is  dancirg  on  the  plain. 


A    WALK    IN    SPRING. 


Sure  as  the  Pleiades  adorn 
The  glittering  coronet  of  morn, 

In  calm  delicious  hours, 
Beneath  their  beams  thy  buds  are  born, 

'Midst  love-awakening  showers. 

Scatter'd  by  Nature's  graceful  hand, 
In  briary  glens,  o'er  pasture-land, 

Thy  fairy  tribes  we  meet ; 
Gay  in  the  milk-maid's  path  they  stand 

They  kiss  her  tripping  feet. 

From  winter's  farm-yard  bondage  freed, 
The  cattle  bounding  o'er  the  mead, 

Where  green  the  herbage  grows, 
Among  thy  fragrant  blossoms  feed, 

Upon  thy  tufts  repose. 

Tossing  his  forelock  o'er  his  mane, 
The  foal,  at  rest  upon  the  plain, 

Sports  with  thy  flexile  stalk, 
But  stoops  his  little  neck  in  vain 

To  crop  it  in  his  walk. 

Where  thick  thy  primrose  blossoms  play. 
Lovely  and  innocent  as  they, 

O'er  coppice  lawns  and  dells, 
In  bands  the  rural  children  stray, 

To  pluck  thy  nectar'd  bells ; 

Whose  simple  sweets,  with  curious  skiL, 
The  frugal  cottage-dames  distil, 

Nor  envy  France  the  vine, 
While  many  a  festal  cup  they  fill 

With  Britain's  homely  wine. 

Unchanging  still  from  year  to  year, 
Like  stars  returning  in  their  sphere, 

With  undiminish  d  rays, 
Thy  vernal  constellations  cheer 

The  dawn  of  lengthening  days. 


M4  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Perhaps  from  Nature's  earliest  May, 
Imperishable  'midst  decay ?• 

Thy  self-renewing  race 
Have  breathed  their  balmy  lives  away 

In  this  neglected  place. 

And,  oh  !  till  Nature's  final  doom, 
Here  unmolested  may  they  bloom, 

From  scythe  and  plough  secure, 
This  bank  their  cradle  and  their  tomb, 

While  earth  and  skies  endure  ! 

Yet,  Jowly  Cowslip,  while  in  thee 
An  old  unalter'd  friend  I  see, 

Fresh  in  perennial  prime  ; 
From  Spring  to  Spring  behold  in  me 

The  woes  and  waste  of  Time. 

This  fading  eye  and  withering  mien 
Tell  what  a  sufferer  I  have  been, 

Since  more  and  more  estranged, 
From  hope  to  hope,  from  scene  to  scene, 

Through  Folly's  wilds  I  ranged. 

Then  fields  and  woods  I  proudly  spurn' d , 
From  Nature's  maiden  love  I  turn'd, 

And  wooed  the  enchantress  Art ; 
Yet  while  for  her  my  fancy  burn'd, 

Cold  was  my  wretched  heart, — 

Till,  distanced  in  Ambition's  race, 
Weary  of  Pleasure's  joyless  chase, 

My  peace  untimely  slain, 
Sick  of  the  world, 1  turn'd  my  face 

To  fields  and  woods  again. 

'Twas  Spring ; — my  former  haunts  I  found, 
My  favourite  flowers  adorn'd  the  ground, 

My  darling  minstrels  play'd  ; 
The  mountains  were  with  sunset  crown'd, 

The  valleys  dun  with  shade. 


TO   AGNtS.  145 


Witli  lorn  delight  the  scene  I  view'd, 
Past  joys  and  sorrows  were  renew'd  ; 

My  infant  hopes  and  fears 
Look'd  lovely,  through  the  solitude 

Of  retrospective  years. 

And  still,  in  Memory's  twilight  bowers, 
The  spirits  of  departed  hours, 

With  mellowing  tints,  portray 
The  blossoms  of  life's  vernal  flowers 

For  ever  fall'n  away. 

Till  youth's  delirious  dream  is  o'er, 
Sanguine  with  hope,  we  look  before, 

The  future  good  to  find  ; 
In  age  when  error  charms  no  more, 
•  '         For  bliss  we  look  behind. 

1806. 


TO  AGNES. 

REPLY   TO    SOME    LINES,    BEGINNING    "ARREST,   O   TIME,    THY    FLEET;t« 
COURSE." 

TIME  will  not  check  his  eager  flight, 

Though  gentle  AGNF.S  scold, 
For  'tis  the  Sage's  dear  delight- 

To  make  young  Ladies  old. 

Then  listen,  AONKS,  friendship  sings  ; 

Seize  fast  his  forelock  gray, 
And  pluck  from  his  careering  wings 

A  feather  every  day. 

Adorn'd  with  these,  defy  his  rage, 

And  bid  him  plough  your  face, 
For  every  furrow  of  old  age 

Shall  be  a  line  of  grace. 

Start  not ;  old  nge  is  virtue's  prime ; 
Most  lovely  she  appears, 

21* 


««  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Clad  in  the  spoils  of  vanquished  Time, 
Down  in  the  vale  of  years. 

Beyond  that  vale,  in  boundless  bloom, 
The  eternal  mountains  rise : 

Virtue  descends  not  to  the  tomb, 
Her  rest  is  in  the  skies. 

1804. 


A  DEED  OF  DARKNESS. 

iTie  body  nf  the  Missionary,  John  Smith,  (who  died  Fr-bruary  6,  1821,  in  prison, 
under  sentence  of  death  liy  a  court-ni'irli.tl,  in  Ueinenira.)  was  ordered  to  be 
buried  secretly  at  night,  and  no  person,  not  even  his  widow,  was  allowed  to 
follow  the  corpse.  Mis.  Suiiih,  however,  and  her  friend  Mrs  Elliott,  accom- 
panied hy  a  free  Negro,  carrying  a  lantern,  repaired  hefnrehand  to  the  spot 
where  a  grave  had  been  dug,  and  there  they  awaited  the  interment,  which 
took  place  accordingly.  His  Majesty'*  paidnn,  ainmlliii!.'  the  condemnation, 
is  said  to  have  arrived  on  the  d  iy  of  the  unfortunate  Missionary's  death,  from 
the  rigours  of  confinement,  in  a  tropical  climate,  and  under  the  slow  pains  of 
an  inveterate  malady,  previously  afflicting  him. 

COME  down  in  thy  prbfoundest  gloom, 

Without  one  vagrant  fire-fly's  light, 
Beneath  thine  ebon  arch  entomb 

Earth,  from  the  gaze  of  heaven,  O  Night ! 
A  deed  of  darkness  must  be  done, 
Put  out  the  moon,  hold  back  the  sun. 

Are  these  the  criminals,  that  flee 

Like  deeper  shadows  through  the  shade  ? 

A  flickering  lamp,  from  tree  to  tree 
Betrays  their  path  along  the  glade, 

Led  by  a  Negro  ; — now  they  stand, 

Two  trembling  women,  hand  in  hand. 

A  grave,  an  open  grave,  appears ; 

O'er  this  in  agony  they  bend, 
Wet  the  fresh  turf  with  bitter  tears  ; 

Sighs  following  sighs  their  bosoms  rend  : 
These  are  not  murderers ! — these  have  known 
Grief  more  bereaving  than  their  own. 


A   DEED    OF   DARKNESS.  KT 

Oft  through  the  gloom  their  straining  eyes 

Look  forth,  for  what  they  fear  to  meet: 
It  comes  ;  they  catch  a  glimpse  ;  it  flies  : 

Quick-glancing  lights,  slow-tramping  feet, 
Amidst  the  cane-crops, — seen,  heard,  gone,— 
Return, — and  in  dead-march  move  on. 

A  stern  procession  ! — gleaming  arms, 

And  spectral  countenances  dart, 
By  the  red  torch-flame,  wild  alarms, 

And  withering  pangs  through  either  heart ; 
A  corpse  amidst  the  group  is  borne, 
A  prisoner's  corpse  who  died  last  morn. 

Not  by  the  slave-lord's  justice  slain, 

Who  doom'd  him  to  a  traitor's  death  ; 
While  royal  mercy  sped  in  vain 

O'er  land  and  sea  to  save  his  breath; 
No ;  the  frail  life  that  warm'd  this  clay 
Man  could  not  give  nor  take  away. 

His  vengeance  and  his  grace,  alike, 

Were  impotent  to  spare  or  kill ; 
— He  may  not  lift  the  sword  to  strike, 

Nor  turn  its  edge  aside,  at  will ; 
Here,  by  one  sovereign  act  and  deed, 
God  cancelTd  all  that  man  decreed. 

Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust, 

That  corpse  is  to  the  grave  consign'd  ; 
The  scene  departs : — this  buried  trust 

The  Judge  of  quick  and  dead  shall  find, 
When  things  which  Time  and  Death  have  seal'd, 
Shall  be  in  flaming  fire  reveal'd. 

The  fire  shall  try  Thee,  then,  like  gold. 

Prisoner  of  hope  ! — await  the  test ; 
And  oh  !  when  truth  alone  is  told, 

Be  thy  clear  innocence  confess'd  ! 
The  fire  shall  try  thy  foes ;— may  they 
Find  mercy  in  that  dreadful  day. 


•0  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


THE  DIAL. 

THIS  shadow  on  the  Dial's  face, 

That  steals  from  day  to  day, 
With  slow,  unseen,  unceasing  pace, 

Moments,  and  months,  and  years  away ; 
This  shadow,  which,  in  every  clime, 

Since  light  and  motion  first  began, 
Hath  held  its  course  sublime  ; — 

What  is  it  ? Mortal  Man  ! 

It  is  the  scythe  of  TIME  : 

— A  shadow  only  to  the  eye ; 

Yet,  in  its  calm  career, 
It  levels  all  beneath  the  sky ; 

And  still,  through  each  succeeding  year, 
Right  onward,  with  resistless  power, 
Its  stroke  shall  darken  every  hour, 
Till  Nature's  race  be  rim, 
And  TIME'S  last  shadow  shall  eclipse  the  sun. 

Nor  only  o'er  the  Dial's  face, 

This  silent  phantom,  day  by  day, 
With  slow,  unseen,  unceasing  pace, 

Steals  moments,  months,  and  years  away ; 
From  hoary  rock  and  aged  tree. 

From  proud  Palmyra's  mouldering  walls, 
From  Teneriffe,  towering  o'er  the  sea, 

From  every  blade  of  grass  it  falls  ; 
For  still,  where'er  a  shadow  sweeps, 

The  scythe  of  Time  destroys, 
And  man  at  every  footstep  weeps 

O'er  evanescent  joys 


EMBLEMS.  24J 


Like  flow'rets  glittering  with  the  dews  of  morn, 
Fair  for  a  moment,  then  for  ever  shorn  : 
—Ah  !  soon,  beneath  the  inevitable  blow, 
I  too  shall  lie  in  dust  and  darkness  low. 

Then  TIME,  the  Conqueror,  will  suspend 

His  scythe,  a  trophy,  o'er  my  tomb, 
Whose  moving  shadow  shall  portend 

Each  frail  beholder's  doom  : 
O'er  the  wide  earth's  illumined  space, 

Though  TIME'S  triumphant  flight  be  shown, 
The  truest  index  on  its  face 

Points  from  the  churchyard  stone. 

1607. 


EMBLEMS. 

AN  evening  cloud,  in  brief  suspense, 

Was  hither  driven  and  thither, 
It  came,  I  saw  not  whence, 

It  went,  I  know  not  whither; 
I  watch'd  it  changing,  in  the  wind, 

Size,  semblance,  form,  and  hue, 
Lessening  and  fading,  till  behind 

It  left  no  speck  on  heaven's  pure  blue. 

Amidst  the  marshall'd  host  of  night 
Shone  a  new  star  supremely  bright ; 
With  marvelling  eye,  well  pleased  to  err, 

I  hail'd  that  prodigy  : — anon, 
It  fell,— it  fell  like  Lucifer, 

A  flash, — a  blaze, — a  train, — 'twas  gone; 
And  then  I  sought  in  vain  its  place, 
Throughout  the  infinite  of  space. 


«50  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Dew-drops,  at  day-spring,  deck'd  a  line 

Of  gossamer  so  frail,  so  fine, 

A.  gnat's  \virrV  shook  it : — round  and  clear 

As  if  by  fairy-fingers  strung, 
Like  orient  pearls  at  beauty's  ear, 

In  trembling  brilliancy  they  hung 
Upon  a  rosy  brier,  whose  bloom 
Shed  nectar  round  them,  and  perfume. 

Ere  long  exhaled  in  limpid  air, 

Some  mingled  \vith  the  breath  of  morn, 
While  some  slid  singly,  here  and  there, 

Like  tears  by  their  own  weight  down  borne ; 
At  length  the  film  itself  collapsed,  and  where 

The  pageant  glitter'd,  lo !  a  naked  thorn. 

What  are  the  living  ? — hark  !  a  sound 

From  grave  and  cradle  crying, 
By  earth  and  ocean  echoed  round, 

— "  The  living  are  the  dying!" 

From  infancy  to  utmost  age, 

What  is  man's  set  ne  of  pilgrimage  * 

The  passage  to  death's  portal ! 
The  moment  we  begin  to  be, 
We  enter  on  the  agony, 

— The  deal  are  the  immortal ; 
They  live  not  on  expiring  breath, 
They  only  are  exempt  from  death. 

Cloud-atoms,  sparkles  of  a  falling  star, 

Dew-drops  on  gossamer,  all  are  : 

What  can  the  state  beyond  us  be  ? 

Life  ? — Death  ? — Ah  !  no. — a  greater  mystery ; 

What  thought  hath  not  conceived,  ear  heard,  eye  seen  ; 
Perfect  existence  from  a  point  begun  ; 

Part  of  what  GOD'S  eternity  hath  been, — 
Wliole  immortal it}r  belongs  to  none, 
But  Him,  the  First,  the  Last,  the  Only  One. 


A    MESSAGE    FROM    THE    MOON.  Kl 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  THE  MOON : 

A  THOUGHT  AT  EXETER,  DURING  THE  GREAT  ECLIPSE  OF  THE  SUM, 
MAY  15,  1836. 

THE  evening  star  peep'd  forth  at  noon, 
To  learn  what  ail'd  the  sun,  her  sire, 

When,  lo  !  the  intervening  moon 

Plunged  her  black  shadow  through  his  fire : 

Of  ray  by  ray  his  orb  bereft, 

Till  but  one  slender  curve  was  left, 
And  that  seein'd  trembling  to  expire. 

The  sickening  atmosphere  grew  dim, 

A  faint,  chill  breeze  crept  over  all ; 
As  in  a  swoon,  when  objects  swim 

Away  from  sight, — a  thickening  pall 
Of  horror,  boding  worse  to  come, 
That  struck  both  field  and  city  dumb, 

O'er  man  and  brute  was  felt  to  fall. 

«*  Avaunt,  insatiate  fiend  !"  I  cry, — 
"Like  vampire  stealing  from  its  grave 

To  drain  some  sleeper's  life-strings  dry, 
Back  to  thine  interlunar  cave  ; 

Ere  the  last  glimpse  of  fountain-light, 

Absorpt  by  thee,  bring  on  a  night 

From  which  nor  moon  nor  morn  can  save." 

While  yet  I  spake,  that  single  beam 
(Bent  like  Apollo's  bow  half-strung) 

Broaden'd  and  brighu-n'd  ; — glram  o'er  gleam. 
Splendours  that  out  of  darkness  sprung, 

The  sun's  unveiling  disk  o'erflow'd. 

Till  forth  in  all  his  strength  he  rode, 
For  ever  bniuiiful  and  young. 


K*  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Reviving  Nature  own'd  his  power; 

And  joy  and  mirth  with  light  and  heat, 
Music  and  fragrance,  hail'd  the  hour 

When  his  deliverance  was  complete : 
Aloft  again  the  swallow  flew, 
The  cock,  at  second  day-break  crew ; 

When  suddenly  a  voice  most  sweet  ;— 

A  voice,  as  from  the  ethereal  sphere, 
Of  one  unseen  yet  passing  by, 

Came  with  such  rapture  on  mine  ear, 
My  soul  sprang  up  into  my  eye  ; 

But  naught  around  could  I  behold, 

No  "mortal  mixture  of  earth's  mould," 
Breathed  that  enchanting  harmony. 

"  How  have  I  wrong'd  thee,  angry  bard  ! 

What  evil  to  your  world  have  done  ? 
That  I,  the  moon,  should  be  deburr'd 

From  free  communion  with  t'ie  sun? 
If,  while  I  lurn'd  on  him  my  'ice, 
Your's  was  o'ercast  a  little  space, 

Already  are  amends  begun. 

"The  lustre  I  have  gather'd  now, 

Not  to  myself  I  will  confine  ; 
Night  after  night,  my  crescent  brow, 

My  full  and  waning  globe  shall  shine 
On  yours, — till  every  spark  is  spent, 
Which  for  us  both  to  me  was  lent ; 

— Thus  I  fulfil  the  law  divine. 

"A  nobler  sun  on  thee  hath  shone, 
On  thee  bestow'd  benigner  light ; 

Walk  in  that  light,  but  not  alone, 
Like  me  to  darkling  eyes  give  sight: 

This  is  the  way  GOD'S  gifts  to  use, 

First  to  enjoy  them,  then  diffuse, 

— Learn  from  the  moon  that  lesson  right." 


A    BRIDAL    BENISOX.  tot 


A  BRIDAL  BENISON. 

ADDRESSED   TO  MY   FRIENDS   MR.    AND   MRS.  B. 

OCEAN  and  land  the  globe  divide, 
Summer  and  winter  share  the  year, 

Darkness  and  light  walk  side  by  side, 
And  earth  and  heaven  are  always  near. 

Though  each  be  good  and  fair  alone, 
And  glorious,  in  its  time  and  place, 

In  all,  when  fitly  pair'd,  is  shown 

More  of  their  Maker's  power  and  grace 

Then  may  the  union  of  young  hearts, 

So  early  and  so  well  begun, 
Like  sea  and  shore,  in  all  their  parts, 

Appear  as  twain,  but  be  as  one. 

Be  it  like  summer ;  may  they  find 

Bliss,  beauty,  hope,  where'er  they  roam 

Be  it  like  winter,  when  confined, 
Peace,  comfort,  happiness  at  home. 

Like  day  and  night, — sweet  interchange 
Of  care,  enjoyment,  action,  rest ; 

Absence  nor  coldness  e'er  estrange 
Hearts  by  unfailing  love  possest. 

Like  earth's  horizon,  be  their  scene 
Of  life,  a  rich  and  various  ground, 

And,  whether  lowering  or  serene, 
Heaven  all  above  it  and  around. 

When  land  and  ocean,  day  and  nighl 
When  lime  and  nature  cease  to  be 

Lot  their  inheritance  be  light, 
Their  union  an  eternity. 


•M  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


. 


THE  BLACKBIRD. 

Those  who  are  apt  to  awake  early  on  spring  mornings  in  rural  neighbourhoods, 
must  often  have  been  chiirrncri  with  the  solitary  song  of  the  Blackbird,  when 
all  beside  is  still,  and  llie  Lark  himself  is  yet  on  the  ground. — At  everiins,  too, 
his  broad  and  homely  strain,  different  from  that  of  every  other,  and  chiming 
in  at  intervals  \vilh  Ihr  universal  chorus  of  wild  throats,  ia  known  from  in- 
fancy by  all  who  have  IMMMI  accustomed  to  walk  abroad  in  the  hour  of  twi- 
light.— The  yellow  lull  and  glossy  plumage  of  th-  sanic  conspicuous  bird,  when 
he  Hits  from  hedge  to  tree,  or  across  a  meadow,  are  equally  funiliar  to  the  eye 
of  such,  nor  less  to  their  ear  is  the  chuckling  note  with  which  he  bolts  out  of 
a  bush  before  the  startled  p.issenger,  who  has  unconsciously  disturbed  him 
from  his  perch. 

MORNING. 

GOLDEN  bill!  Golden  bill! 

Lo,  the  peep  of  day  ; 
All  the  air  is  cool  and  still, 
From  the  elm-tree  on  the  hill, 

Chant  away : 

While  the  moon  drops  down  the  west. 
Like  thy  mate  upon  her  nest, 
And  the  stars  before  the  sun, 
Melt  like  snow-flakes,  one  by  one ; 
Let  thy  loud  and  welcome  lay 
Pour  along 
Few  notes  but  strong. 

EVENING. 

Jet-bright  wing!  jet-bright  wing  ! 

Flit  across  the  sunset  glade; 
Lying  there  in  wait  to  sing — 
Listen  with  thy  head  awry, 
Keeping  time  with  twinkling  eye, 

While  from  all  the  woodland  shade; 
Birds  of  every  plume  and  note 
Strain  the  throat, 
Till  both  hill  and  valley  ring, 
And  the  warbled  minstrelsy, 


THE    MYRTLE.  SM 


Ebbing,  flowing  like  the  sea, 
Claims  brief  interludes  from  thee: 
Then,  with  simple  swell  and  fall, 
Break  ing  beautiful  through  all, 
Let  thy  Pan-like  pipe  repeat 
Few  notes  but  sweet. 

likern,  near  Doncunler,  1836. 


THE  MYRTLE. 

DARK-GREEN  and  gemm'd  with  flowers  of  snow, 
With  close  uncrovvded  branches  spread, 

Not  proudly  high,  nor  meanly  low, 
A  graceful  myrtle  rear'd  its  head. 

Its  mantle  of  unwithering  leaf, 

Seem'd,  in  my  contemplative  mood, 

Like  silent  joy,  or  patient  grief, 
The  symbol  of  pure  gratitude. 

Still  life,  methonght,  is  thine,  fair  tree  ! 

— Then  pluck'd  a  sprig,  and  while  I  mused, 
With  idle  hands,  unconsciously, 

The  delicate  small  foliage  bruised. 

Odours,  at  my  rude  touch  set  free, 
Escaped  from  all  their  secret  cells  ; 

Quick  life,  I  cried,  is  thine,  fair  tree  ! 
In  thee  a  soul  of  fragrance  dwells  : 

Which  outrage,  wrongs,  nor  wounds  destroy, 
But  wake  its  sweetness  from  repose ; 

Ah  !  could  I  thus  heaven's  gifts  employ. 
Worth  seen,  worth  hidden, thus  disclose: 

In  health,  with  unpretending  grace, 

In  wealth,  with  meekness  and  with  fear, 

Through  every  season  wear  one  face, 
Aoi  be  in  truth  what  1  appear 


156  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

. £ , . 

Then  should  affliction's  chastening  rod 
Bruise  my  frail  frame,  or  break  my  heart, 

Life,  a  sweet  sacrifice  to  GOD, 

Out-breathed  like  incense  would  depart. 

The  Captain  of  Salvation  thus, 
When  like  a  lamb  to  slaughter  led, 

Was,  by  the  Father's  will,  for  us, 
Himself  through  suffering  purified. 

1837. 


KJW. 


A  DEATH-BED. 

**  So  givcth  He  Bis  belpved  sleep."— Psalm  cxxvii.  2. 

HER  path  was  like  the  shining  light, 
Clear,  calm,  progressive,  perfect  day  ; 

At  even-tide  came  sudden  night, 
Thick  darkness  fell  on  all  her  way ; 

Amazed,  alarm'd,  she  quail'd  with  dread, 

And  cried — •"  The  Comforter  is  fled  !" 

It  was  the  tempter's  vantage-hour ; 

Eager  and  flush'd  with  hope  was  he  ; 
He  knew  the  limit  of  his  power, 

And  struggled  hard  for  victory  ; 
A  deathless  soul,  at  life's  last  gasp, 
Seem* d  but  a  hair's  breadth  from  his  grasp. 

The  dire  deceiver  was  deceived, 
That  soul  was  in  a  faithful  hand, 

Even  his  in  whom  her  heart  believed  ; 
Satan  before  Him  could  not  stand, 

But  fell  like  lightning  to  the  deep, 

So  gave  He  his  beloved  sleep. 


DALE    ABBEY. 


DALE  ABBEY. 


A  solitary  arch  in  the  middle  of  an  open  meadow,  and  a  small  oratory  more  an- 
cient than  the  monastery  it-self,  now  the  chapel  of  ease  for  the  hamlet,  are 
alone  conspicuous  of  all  the  magnificent  structures  which  once  occupied  Ihia 
ground.  The  lite  la  about  five  mile*  south-east  from  Derby. 


THE  glory  hath  departed  from  thee,  Dale  ! 

Thy  gorgeous  pageant  of  monastic  pride, 

— A  power,  that  once  the  power  of  kings  defied, 
Which  truth  and  reason  might  in  vain  assail, 
In  mock  humility  usurp'd  this  vale, 

And  lorded  oVr  the  region  far  and  wide ; 

Darkness  to  light,  evil  to  gfcod  allied, 
Had  wrought  a  charm,  which  made  all  hearts  to  quail 

What  gave  that  power  dominion  on  this  ground, 
Age  after  age  ? — the  Word  of  God  was  bound ! — 

At  length  the  mighty  captive  burst  from  thrall, 
O'erturn'd  the  spiritual  bastile  in  its  march, 
And  left  of  ancient  grandeur  this  sole  arch, 

Whose  stones  cry  out, — "  Thus   Babylon  herself  ahall 
fall." 


ii. 

More  beautiful  in  ruin  than  in  prime, 

Methinks  this  frail,  yet  firm  memorial  stands, 
The  work  of  heads  laid  low,  and  buried  hands  : 

— Now  slowly  mouldering  to  the  touch  of  time, 

It  looks  abroad,  unconsciously  sublime, 

Where  sky  above  and  earth  beneath  expands . 
And  yet  a  nobler  relic  still  demands 

The  grateful  homage  of  a  passing  rhyrie. 


558  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Beneath  the  cliff  yon  humble  roof  behold  ! 
Poor  as  our  Saviour's  birthplace;  yet  a  fold, 

Where  the  good  shepherd,  in  this  quiet  vale, 
Gathers  his  flock,  and  feeds  them,  as  of  old, 

With  bread  from  heaven : — I  change  my  note  ; — all  hail! 

The  glory  of  the  Lord  is  risen  upon  thee,  Dale  !* 

1830. 


IN  BEREAVEMENT. 

LIFT  up  thine  eyes,  afflicted  soul ! 

Frorti  earth  lift  up  thine  eyes; 
Though  dark  the  evening-shadows  roll, 

And  daylight  beauty  dies, 
One  sun  is  set, — a  thousand  more 

Their  rounds  of  glory  run, 
Where  science  leads  thee  to  explore 

In  every  star  a  sun. 

Thus,  when  some  long-loved  comfort  ends, 

And  Nature  would  despair, 
Faith  to  the  heaven  of  heaven  ascends, 

And  meets  ten  thousand  there  : 
First  faint  and  small,  then  clear  and  bright, 

They  gladden  all  the  gloom, 
As  stars  that  seem  but  points  of  light 

The  rank  of  suns  assume. 

1836. 

*  This  ancient  oratory  is  supposed  to  have  stood  between  700  and  800  years. 
It  was  built  by  a  person  who  had  previously  dwelt  as  a  hermit  in  a  cave  which 
he  had  hewed  in  the  rock  adjacent,  where  he  submitled  to  great  hardships  and 
privations.  He  was  a  native  of  Derby,  and  believed  it  was  the  will  of  heaven, 
that  he  should  leave  his  home  and  friends  and  live  in  solitude.  The  Abbey  was 
founded  in  1204,  near  the  spot  where  this  holy  man  had  thus  lived  and  died.  Af- 
ter being  successively  occupied  by  monks  of  various  orders,  it  was  broken  up  in 
1539.  The  buildings  occupied  a  large  space  of  ground  ;  but  beside  the  arch  and 
chapel  nothing  more  than  a  few  fragments  of  walls  and  foundations  can  be 
traced. 


CORONATION    ODE. 


CORONATION  ODE  FOR  QUEEN  VICTORIA 

THE  sceptre  in  a  maiden-hand, 

The  reign  of  beauty  and  of  youth, 
Should  wake  to  gladness  all  the  land, 
Where  love  is  loyalty  and  truth  : 
Rule,  Victoria,  rule  the  free, 
Hearts  and  hands  we  offer  Thee 

Not  by  the  tyrant  law  of  might, 

But  by  the  grace  of  GOD  we  own, 
And  by  the  people's  voice,  thy  right 
To  sit  upon  thy  Father's  throne  : 
Rule,  Victoria,  rule  the  free, 
Heaven  defend  and  prosper  Thee. 

Thee  isles  and  continents  obey  ; 

Kindreds  and  nations  nigh  and  far, 
Behold  the  bound-marks  of  thy  sway, 
— The  morning  and  the  evening  star: 
Rule,  Victoria,  rule  the  free, 
Millions  rest  their  hopes  on  Theo. 

No  slave  within  thine  empire  breathe  ! 

Before  thy  steps  oppression  fly  1 
The  lamb  and  lion  play  beneath 
The  meek  dominion  of  thine  eye  ! 
Rule,  Victoria,  rule  the  free, 
Bonds  and  shackles  yield  to  Thee. 

Still  spreading  influence  more  benign, 

Light  to  thy  realms  of  darkness  send, 
Till  none  shall  name  a  God  but  thine, 
None  at  an  idol  altar  bend  : 

Rule,  Victoria,  rule  the  free, 

Till  all  tongues  shall  pray  for  The* 


tCC  MISCELLANKOUS    POEMS. 

At  home,  abroad,  by  sea,  on  shore, 

Blessings  to  thee  and  thine  increase ; 
The  sword  and  cannon  rage  no  more, 

The  whole  world  hail  thee  dueen  of  Peace : 
Rule,  Victoria,  rule  the  free, 
And  th'  Almighty  rule  o'er  Thee. 

1838. 


THE  WILD  PINK, 

ON   THE   WALL   OF   MALMESBURT   ABBEY. 
(Dianthus  Ckeirophyllus.) 

On  seeing  a  solitary  specimen  near  the  Great  Archway,  and  being  told  that  the 
plant  was  not  to  be  found  elsewhere  in  the  neighbourhood. 

THE  hand  that  gives  the  angels  wings, 

And  plants  the  forest  by  its  power, 
O'er  mountain,  vale,  and  champaign  flings 

The  seed  of  every  herb  and  flower ; 
Nor  forests  stand,  nor  angels  fly, 
More  at  God's  will,  more  in  his  eye, 
Than  the  green  blade  strikes  down  its  root, 
Expands  its  bloom,  and  yields  its  fruit. 

Beautiful  daughter  of  a  line 

Of  unrecorded  ancestry  ! 
What  herald's  scroll  could  vie  with  thine 

Where  monarchs  trace  their  pedigree  ? 
Thy  first  progenitor  had  birth 
While  man  was  yet  unquicken'd  earth, 
And  thy  last  progeny  may  wave 
Its  flag  o'er  man's  last-open'd  grave. 

Down  from  the  day  of  Eden  lost, 

A  generation  in  a  year, 
Unscathed  by  heat,  unnipt  by  frost, 

True  to  the  sovereign  sun,  appear 


THE    WILD    PINK.  »1 


The  units  of  thy  transient  race, 
Each  in  its  turn,  each  in  its  place, 
To  make  the  world  a  little  while 
Lovelier  and  sweeter  with  its  smile. 

How  earnest  thou  hither  ?  from  what  soil, 
Where  those  that  went  before  thee  jrrew, 

O 

Exempt  from  suffering,  care,  and  toil, 

Clad  by  the  sunbeams,  fed  with  dew? 
Tell  me  on  what  strange  spot  of  ground 
Thy  rock-born  kindred  yet  are  found, 
And  I  the  carrier-dove  will  be 
To  bring  them  wondrous  news  of  thee. 

How,  here,  by  wren  or  red-breast  dropt, 

Thy  parent-germ  was  left  behind, 
Or,  in  its  trackless  voyage  stopt, 

While  sailing  on  th'  autumnal  wind, 
Not  rudfly  wreckt,  but  safely  thrown 
On  yonder  ledge  of  quarried  stone, 
Where  the  blithe  s\vallo\v  builds  and  sings, 
And  the  pert  sparrow  pecks  his  wings. 

Then,  by  some  glimpse  of  moonshine  sped, 

Queen  Mab,  methinks,  alighting  there, 
A  span-long,  hand-breadth  terrace  spread, 

A  fairy -garden  hung  in  air, 
Of  lichens,  moss,  and  earthy  mould, 
To  rival  Babylon's  of  old, 
In  which  that  single  seed  she  nurst, 
Till  forth  its  embryo- wild  ing  burst. 

Now,  like  that  solitary  star, 

Last  in  the  morn's  resplendent  crown, 
Or  first  emerging,  faint  and  far, 

When  evening-glooms  the  sky  embrown. 
Thy  beauty  shines  without  defence, 
Yet  safe  from  gentle  violence, 
While  infant-hands  and  maiden-eyes 
Covet  in  vain  the  tempting  prize. 


Ml  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Yon  arch,  beneath  whose  giant-span, 

Thousands  of  passing  feet  have  trod 
Upon'the  dust  that  once  was  man,  , 

Gather'd  around  the  house  of  GOD, 
—That  arch  which  seems  to  mock  decay, 
Fix'd  as  the  firmament  to-day, 
Is  fading  like  the  rainbow's  form, 
Through  the  slow  stress  of  time's  long  storm. 

But  thou  mayst  boast  perennial  prime  ; 

— The  blade,  the  stem,  the  bud,  the  flower, 
Not  ruin'd  but  renew'  1  by  time, 

Beyond  the  great  destroyer's  power, 
Like  day  and  night,  like  spring  and  fall, 
Alternate,  on  the  abbey  wall, 
May  come  and  go,  from  year  to  year, 
And  vanish  but  to  re-appear. 

Nay,  when  in  utter  wreck  are  strown 

Arch,  buttress,  all  this  mighty  mass, 
Crumbled,  and  crush'd,  and  overgrown 

With  thorns  and  thistles,  reeds  and  grass, 
While  Nature  thus  the  waste  repairs, 
Thine  offspring,  Nature's  endless  heirs, 
Earth's  ravaged  fields  may  re-possess, 
And  plant  once  more  the  wilderness. 

So  be  it : — but  the  sun  is  set, 

My  song  must  end,  and  I  depart ; 
Yet  thee  I  never  will  forget, 

But  bear  thee  in  my  inmost  heart, 
Where  this  shall  thy  memorial  be, 
— If  GOD  so  cares  for  thine  and  thee, 
How  can  I  doubt  that  love  divine, 
Which  watches  over  me  and  mine  ? 

'£38. 


PARTING    WORDS. 


PARTING  WORDS. 

"And  he  said,  Let  me  go,  for  (he  day  brcaketh." 

(h  nail,  xnii.  96k 

LET  me  go,  the  day  is  breaking, 

Dear  companions,  let  me  go  ; 
We  have  spent  a  night  of  waking 

In  the  wilderness  below  ; 
Upward  now  I  bend  my  way, 
Part  we  here  at  break  of  day. 

Let  me  go,  I  may  net  tarry, 

Wrestling  thus  with  doubts  and  fears ; 

Angels  wait  my  soul  to  carry, 
Where  my  risen  LORD  appears ; 

Friends  and  kindred,  weep  not  so, 

If  ye  love  me,  let  me  go. 

We  have  travell'd  long  together, 
Hand  in  hand,  and  heart  in  heart, 

Both  through  fair  and  stormy  weather, 
And  'tis  hard — 'tis  hard  to  part, 

Yet  we  must : — "  Farewell!"  to  you  ; 

Answer,  one  and  all,  M*tfrff«M/" 

'Tis  not  darkness  gathering  round  me, 
Which  withdraws  me  from  your  sight ; 

Walls  of  flesh  no  more  can  bound  me, 
But,  translated  into  light, 

Like  the  lark  on  mounting  wing, 

Though  unseen,  you  hear  me  sing. 

Heaven's  broad  day  halh  o'er  me  broken, 
Far  beyond  earth's  span  of  sky : 

Am  I  dead  ? — Nay,  by  this  token, 
Know  that  I  have  ceased  to  die ; 

Would  you  solve  the  mystery. 

Come  up  hither,— come  and  sec. 

1O7 


«4  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


THE  ROSES. 

ADDRESSED   TO   A   FRIEND    ON   TUE   BIRTH    OF   HIS  FIRST   CHILD 

Two  Roses  on  one  slender  spray 

In  sweet  communion  grew, 
Together  hailed  the  morning  ray, 

And  drank  the  evening  dew ; 
While  sweetly  wreath'd  in  mossy  green, 

There  sprang  a  little  bud  between. 

Through  clouds  and  sunshine,  storm  and  showers, 

They  open'd  into  bloom, 
Mingling  their  foliage  and  their  flowers, 

Their  beauty  and  perfume  ; 
While  foster' d  on  its  rising  stem, 

The  bud  became  a  purple  gem. 

But  soon  their  summer  splendour  pass'd, 

They  faded  in  the  wind, 
Yet  were  these  roses  to  the  last 

The  loveliest  of  their  kind, 
Whose  crimson  leaves  in  falling  round, 
Adorn'd  and  sanctified  the  ground. 

When  thus  were  all  their  honours  shorn, 

The  bud  unfolding  rose, 
And  blush'd  and  brighten'd,  as  the  morn 

From  dawn  to  sunrise  glows, 
Till  o'er  each  parent's  drooping  head, 
The  daughter's  crowning  glory  spread. 

My  Friends  !  in  youth's  romantic  prime, 

The  golden  age  of  man, 
Like  these  twin  Roses  spend  your  time, 

— Life's  little,  lessening  span  ; 
Then  be  your  breasts  as  free  from  cares 

Your  hours  as  innocent  as  theirs. 


ELIJAH   IN    THE   WILDERNESS.  265 

And  in  the  infant  bud  that  blows 

In  your  encircling  arms, 
Mark  the  dear  promise  of  a  rose, 

The  pledge  of  future  charms, 
That  o'er  your  withering  hours  shall  shine, 
Fair,  and  more  fair,  as  you  decline  ;— 
Till,  planted  in  that  realm  of  rest 

Where  ros,  s  never  die, 
Amidst  the  gardens  of  the  blest, 

Beneath  a  stormless  sky, 
You  flower  afresh,  like  Aaron's  rod, 
That  blossom'd  at  the  sight  of  God. 

1S08. 


ELIJAH  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

1  KINGS  xix. 

THUS  pray'd  the  prophet  in  the  wilderness  ; 

*'  GOD  of  my  fathers!  look  on  my  distress; 

My  days  are  spent  in  vanity  and  strife, 

Oh  that  the  LORD  would  please  to  take  my  life  ! 

Beneath  the  clods  through  this  lone  valley  spread, 

Fain  would  I  join  the  generations  dead  !" 

Heaven  deign'd  no  answer  to  that  murmuring  prayer, 
Silence  that  thrill'd  the  blood  alone  was  there  ; 
Down  sunk  his  weary  limbs,  slow  heaved  his  breath, 
And  sleep  fell  on  him  with  a  weight  like  death  ; 
Dreams,  raised  by  evil  spirits,  hover1  d  near, 
Throng1  d  with  strange  thoughts,  and  images  of  fear; 
Th'  abominations  of  the  Gentiles  came; — 
Detested  Chemosh,  Moloch  clad  with  flame, 
Ashtaroth,  queen  of  heaven,  with  moony  crest, 
And  Baiil,  surilike,  high  above  the  rest, 
Glared  on  him,  gnash'd  their  teeth,  then  sped  away, 
Like  ravening  vultures  to  their  carrion-prey, 
Where  every  grove  grew  darker  with  their  rites. 
And  blood  ran  reeking  down  the  mountain-heights : 

23 


2M  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

But  to  the  living  GOD,  throughout  the  land, 
He  saw  no  altar  blaze,  no  temple  stand; 
Jerusalem  was  dust,  and  Zion's  hill, 
Lfke  Tophet's  valley,  desolate  and  still : 
The  prophet  drew  one  deep  desponding  groan, 
And  his  heart  died  within  him  like  a  stone. 

An  angel's  touch  the  dire  entrancement  broke, 
"  Arise  and  eat,  Elijah  !" — He  awoke, 
And  found  a  table  in  the  desert  spread, 
With  water  in  the  cruise  beside  his  head  ; 
He  bless'd  the  Lord,  who  turn'd  away  his  prayer, 
Andfeas'.ed  on  the  neaven-provided  fare; 
Then  sweeter  slumber  o'er  his  senses  stole, 
And  sunk  like  life  new-breathed  into  his  soul. 
A  dream  brought  David's  city  on  his  sight, 
— Shepherd's  wore  watching  o'er  their  flocks  by  night; 
Around  them  uncreated  splendour  blazed, 
And  heavenly  hosts  their  hallelujah's  raised; 
A  theme  unknown  since  sin  to  death  gave  birth, 
"Glory  to  GOD!  good  will  and  peace  on  earth!" 
They  sang ;  his  heart  responded  to  the  strain, 
Though  memory  sought,  to  keep  the  words  in  vain: 
The  vision  changed  ; — amid  the  gloom  serene, 
One  star  above  all  other  stars  was  seen, 
It  had  a  light,  a  motion  of  its  own, 
And  o'er  an  humble  shed  in  Bethlehem  shone; 
He  look'd,  and,  lo  !  an  infant  newly  born, 
That  seem'd  cast  out  to  poveity  and  scorn, 
Yet  Gentile  kings  its  advent  came  to  greet, 
Worshipp'd,  antl  laid  iheir  treasures  at  its  feet. 
Musing  what  this  mysterious  babe  might  be, 
He  saw  a  sufferer  stretch'd  upon  a  tree  ; 
Yet  while  the  victim  died,  by  men  abhorr'd, 
Creation's  agonies  confess'd  him  LORD. 
Again  the  Angel  smote  the  slumberer's  side; 
"Arise  and  eat,  the  way  is  long  and  wide." 
He  rose  and  ate,  and  with  unfainting  force, 
Through  forty  days  and  nights  upheld  his  course. 


ELIJAH    IN   THE    WILDEUNESS. 


Horeb,  the  mount  of  GOD,  he  reach'd,  and  lay 

Within  a  cavern  till  the  cool  of  clay. 

"  What  dost  thou  here,  Elijah  ?"  —  Like  the  tide, 

Brake  that  deep  voice  through  silence,     fie  replied, 

"  I  have  been  very  jealous  for  thy  cause, 

LORD  GOD  of  hosts  !  for  men  make  void  thy  laws  ; 

Thy  people  have  thrown  down  thine  altars,  slain 

Thy  prophets,  —  I,  and  I  alone,  remain; 

My  life  with  reckless  vengeance  they  pursue, 

And  what  can  I  against  a  nation  do  ?" 

"  Stand  on  the  mount  before  the  I  ord,  and  know, 
That  vvratli  or  mercy  at  my  will  I  s'unv." 
Anon  the  power  that  holds  the  winds  let  fly 
Their  devastating  armies  through  the  sky  ; 
Then  shook  the  wilderness,  the  rocks  were  rent, 
As  when  JKHOVAH  bow'd  the  firmament, 
And  trembling  Israel,  while  he  gave  the  law, 
Beheld  the  symbols  but  no  image  saw. 
The  storm  retired,  nor  left  a  trace  behind  ; 
The  LORD  pass'd  by  ;  he  came  not  with  the  wind. 

Beneath  the  prophet's  (eel  the  shuddering  ground 
Clave,  and  disclosed  a  precipice  profound, 
Like  that  which  open'd  to  the  gales  of  hell, 
When  Korah,  Dathan.and  Abirain  fell  ; 
Again  the  Lord  pass'd  by,  but  unreveal'd  ; 
He  came  not  with  the  earthquake,  —  all  was  seal'd. 

A  new  amazement!  vale  and  mountain  turn'd 
Red  as  the  battle-field  with  blood,  then  burn'd 
Up  to  the  stars,  as  terrible  a  flame 
As  shall  devour  this  universal  frame  ; 
Elijah  watch'd  it  kindle,  spread,  expire; 
The  LORD  pass'd  by;  he  came  not  with  the  fire. 

A  still  small  whisper  breathed  upon  his  ear; 
He  wrapt  his  mantle  round  his  face  with  fear; 
Darkness  that  might  be  felt  involved  him,—  drmb 
With  expectation  of  a  voice  to  come, 
He  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  the  cave, 
As  one  long  dead,  just  risen  from  the  grave, 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


In  the  last  judgment.  —  Came  the  voice  and  cried, 
"  What  dost  thou  here,  Elijah  ?"  —  He  replied, 
"  I  have  been  very  jealous  for  thy  cause, 
LORD  GOD  of  hosts  !  for  men  make  void  thy  laws 
Thy  people  have  thrown  down  thine  altars,  slain 
Thy  prophets,  —  I,  and  I  alone,  remain  ; 
My  life  with  ruthless  violence  they  pursue, 
And  what  can  I  against  a  nation  do  ?" 

"  My  day  of  vengeance  is  at  hand  :  the  year 
Of  my  redeem'd  shall  suddenly  appear  : 
Go  Thou,  —  anoint  two  kings,  —  and  in  thy  place, 
A  prophet  to  stand  up  before  my  face  : 
Then  he  who  'scapes  the  Syrian's  sword  shall  fall 
By  his  whom  to  Samaria's  throne  I  call  ; 
And  he  who  's  apes  from  Jehu,  in  that  day, 
Him,shall  the  judgment  of  Elisha  slay. 
Yet  hath  a  remnant  been  preserved  by  me, 
Seven  thousand  souls,  who  never  bow'd  the  knee 
To  Baal's  image,  nor  have  kiss'd  his  shrine  ; 
These  are  my  jewels,  and  they  shall  be  mine, 
When  to  the  world  my  righteousness  is  shown, 
And,  root  and  branch,  idolatry  o'erthrown." 

So  be  it,  God  of  truth  !  yet  why  delay  ?  . 

With  thee  a  thousand  years  are  as  one  day  ; 
O  crown  thy  people's  hopes,  dispel  their  fears  ! 
And  be  to-day  with  Thee  a  thousand  years  ! 
Cut  short  the  evil,  bring  the  blessed  time, 
Avenge  thine  own  elect  from  clime  to  clime  ; 
Let  not  an  idol  in  thy  path  be  spared, 
All  share  the  fate  which  Bail  long  hath  shared  ; 
Nor  let  seven  thousand  only  worship  Thee  ; 
Make  every  tongue  confess,  bow  every  knee  ; 
Now  o'er  the  promised  kingdoms  reign  thy  Son, 
One  Lord  through  all  the  earth,  —  his  name  be  one 
Hasi  Thou  not  spoken?  shall  it  not  be  done  ? 

183*. 


THE    REV.    THOMAS    RAWSON    TAYLOR. 


STANZAS 

ON   THE   DEATH  OF 

THE  LATE  REV.  THOMAS  RAWSON  TAYLOR, 

OF  BRADFORD,  IN  YORKSHIRE; 

A  youne  minister  of  great  promise,  and  a  poet  of  no  mean  order,  whose  ver»e», 
entitle  I  "  Communion  with  tin  Dead,"  on  the  removal  in  early  life  of  a  sister, 
would  emleir  and  perpetuate  the  remembrance  <f  tmih.  were  they  as  generally 
known  as  they  deserve  to  be.  The  survivor  died  on  the  7tb  of  March,  1835, 
aged  28  years. 

MILLIONS  of  eyes  have  wept  o'er  frames 

Once  living,  beautiful,  and  young, 
Now  dust  and  ashes,  and  their  names  ^ 

Extinct  on  earth  because  unsung:  ^ 

Yet  song  itself  hath  but  its  day, 
Like  the  swan's  dirge, — a  dying  lay. 

A  dying  lay  I  would  rehearse, 

In  memory  of  one  whose  breath 
Pour'd  forth  a  stream  of  such  sweet  verse 

As  might  have  borne  away  from  death 
The  trophy  of  a  sister's  name, 
— Winning  at  once  and  giving  fame. 

But  all  is  mortal  here, — that  song 

Pass'd  like  the  breeze,  Avhich  steals  from  flowers 
Their  fragrance,  yet  repays  the  wrong 

With  dew-drops,  shaken  down  in  showers ; 
Ah  !  like  those  flowers  with  dew-drops  fed, 
They  sprang,  they  blossom'd,  they  are  dead. 

The  poet  (spared  a  little  while) 

Follow'd  the  sister  all  too  soon  ; 
The  hectic  rose  that  flush'd  his  smile 

Grew  pale  and  wither'd  long  ere  noon ; 
In  youth's  exulting  prime  he  gave 
What  death  demanded  to  the  grave. 

23* 


«?<)  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

But  that  which  death  nor  grave  could  seize, — 
His  soul, — into  his  Saviour's  hands 

(Who  by  the  cross's  agonies 

Redeem'd  a  people  from  all  lands) 

He  yielded,  till  "-that  day"*  to  keep, 

And  then,  like  Stephen,  fell  asleep. 

"  That  day"  will  come,  meanwhile  weep  not, 
O  ye  that  loved  him !  and  yet  more 

Love  him  for  grief  that  "  he  is  not :" 
— Rather  with  joy  let  eyes  run  o'er, 

And  warm  hearts  hope  his  face  to  see, 

Where  'tis  for  ever  "  good  to  be." 


£  CHRIST  THE  PURIFIER. 

MALACHI,  iii.  2,  3. 

HE  that  from  dross  would  win  the  precious  ore, 
Bends  o'er  the  crucible  an  earnest  eye, 

The  subtle,  searching  process  to  explore, 

Lest  the  one  brilliant  moment  should  pass  by, 

When  in  the  molten  silver's  virgin  mass, 

He  meets  his  pictured  face  as  in  a  glass. 

Thus  in  GOD'S  furnace  are  his  children  tried  ; 

Thrice  happy  they  who  to  the  end  endure ! 
But  who  the  fiery  trial  may  abide  ? 

Who  from  the  crucible  come  forth  so  pure, 
That  He,  whose  eyes  of  flame  look  through  the  whole, 
May  see  his  image  perfect  in  the  soul  ? 

Not  with  an  evanescent  glimpse  alone, 

As  in  that  mirror  the  refiner's  face, 
But,  stampt  with  heaven's  broad  signet,  there  be  shown 

Immanuel's  features,  full  of  truth  and  grace,— 
And  round  that  seal  of  love  this  motto  be, 
"  Not  for  a  moment,  but  eternity  !" 

*  2  Tim.  i.  12. 


A    CERTAIN    DISCIPLE.'  *7| 


"A  CERTAIN  DISCIPLE." 

ACTS  ii.  10. 

ON    THE    PORTRAIT    OF  THE     REV.     W.    H. 

LONG  may  his  living  countenance  express 
The  air  and  lineaments  of  holiness, 
And,  as  from  theme  to  theme  his  thoughts  shall  range 
In  high  discourse,  its  answering  aspects  change  ! 
— Like  Abraham's,  faith's  sublimest  pledge  display, 
When  bound  upon  the  altar  Isaac  lay ; 
— Kindle  like  Jacob's,  when  he  felt  his  power 
With  GOD,  and  wrestled  till  the  day-break  hour; 
— Shine  like  the  face  of  Moses,  when  he  came, 
All-radiant,  from  the  mount  that  bnrn'd  with  flame; 
—Flash  like  Elisha's,  when,  his  sire  in  view, 
He  caught  the  mantle  and  the  spirit  too; 
—Darken  like  Jonah's,  when  with  "  Wo !"  he  went 
Through  trembling  Nineveh,  yet  cry  "  Repent !"' 
— Brighten  like  Stephen's,  when  his  foes  amazed, 
As  if  an  angel  stood  before  them,  gazed  ; 
And  like  that  martyr's,  at  his  latest  breath, 
Reflect  his  Saviour's  image  full  in  death. 
Yea,  ever  in  the  true  disciple's  mien, 
His  meek  and  lowly  Master  must  be  seen, 
And  in  the  fervent  preacher's  boldest  word, 
That  voice  which  was  the  voice  of  mercy  heard : 
— So  may  the  love  which  drew,  as  with  a  chain, 
The  Son  of  GOD  from  heaven,  his  heart  constrain, 
Draw  him  from  earth,  and  fix  his  hopes  above. 
While  with  the  self-same  chain,  that  chain  of  love 
In  new  captivity,  he  strives  to  bind 
Sin's  nmsom'd  slaves,  his  brethren  of  mankind  ; 
labouring  and  suffering  still,  whate'ur  the  cost, 
By  life  or  death,  to  seek  and  save  the  lost ; 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


That,  following  Christ,  in  pure  simplicity, 
As  He  was  in  this  world,  himself  may  be, 
Till,  call'd  with  Him  in  glory  to  sit  down, 
And  with  the  crown  then  given  the  Giver  crown 

1834. 


THE  COMMUNION  OF  SAINTS. 

JOHN  xvii.  20—23. 

FREE,  yet  in  chains  the  mountains  stand, 

The  valleys  link'd  run  hand  in  hand, 

In  fellowship  the  forests  thrive, 

And  streams  from  streams  their  strength  derive. 

The  cattle  graze  in  flocks  and  herds, 
In  choirs  and  concerts  sing  the  birds, 
Insects  by  millions  ply  the  wing, 
And  flowers  in  peaceful  armies  spring. 

All  nature  is  society, 

All  nature's  voices  harmony, 

All  colours  blend  to  form  pure  light, 

— Why  then  should  Christians  not  unite  ? 

Thus  to  the  Father  pray'd  the  Son, 
"  One  may  they  be  as  We  are  one  ; 
That  I  in  them,  and  Thou  in  Me, 
They  one  with  Us  may  ever  be." 

Children  of  GOD  !  combine  your  bands, 
Brethren  in  Christ !  join  hearts  and  hands, 
And  pray, — for  so  the  Father  will'd, — 
That  the  Son's  prayer  may  be  fulfill'd  :— 

Fulfill'd  in  you,  fulfill'd  in  all 
That  on  the  name  of  Jesus  call, 
And  every  covenant  of  love 
Ye  bind  on  earth,  be  bound  above ! 


"PERILS  BY  THE  HEATHEN." 


"PERILS  BY  THE  HEATHEN." 

9  CORINTHIANS  li.  26. 

Line*  in  memory  of  the  Rev.  WILLIAM  THBELFALL,  Wesleyan  Missionary,  who, 
with  two  native  converts,  (JACOB  LINKS  and  JOHANNES  JAOOER.)  set  out  in 
June,  1825,  to  carry  the  gospel  into  great  Namaqua-laml,  on  the  western  coast 
of  South  Africa.  The  last  communication  received  from  him  by  hia  brethren 
was  the  following  brief  note,  dated  "  Warm  Baths,  Jivgvst  6,  1825.  Being 
rather  unkindly  handled  by  this  people,  in  their  not  finding  or  not  permitting 
us  to  have  a  guide,  we  returned  hither  yesterday,  after  having  been  to  the 
norlh  four  days'  journey,  and  losing  one  of  the  oxen.  I  feel  great  need  of  your 
prayers,  and  my  patience  is  much  tried.  These  people  are  very  unfeeling  and 
deceitful ;  but,  thank  God,  we  are  all  in  good  health,  though  we  doubt  of  suc- 
cess. Our  cattle  are  so  poor  that  they  cannot,  I  think,  bring  us  home  again  ; 
but  we  shall  yet  try  to  get  further ;  and  then  it  is  not  unlikely,  I  shall  despatch 
Johannes  to  you  to  send  oxen  to  fetch  us  away.  Do  not  be  uneasy  about  us; 
we  all  feel  much  comforted  in  our  souls,  and  the  Lord  give  us  patience.  We 
are  obliged  to  beg  hard  to  buy  meat.  Peace  be  with  you  !— WILLIAM  THBEL- 
FALL. 

No  further  intelligence  arrived  concerning  the  wanderer*  for  seven  months, 
except  unauthorized  rumours,  that  they  had,  in  gome  way,  perished  in  the 
desert.  In  the  sequel  it  was  ascertained,  that  Mr.  Threlfitll  and  his  faithful 
companions  had  left  the  Warm  Batlis  above  mentioned  about  the  9th  or  10th 
of  August,  having  obtained  a  vagabond  guide  to  the  Great  Fish  River.  This 
wretch,  meeting  with  two  others  as  wicked  as  himself,  conducted  them  to  a 
petty  kraal  of  Bushmen,  (the  outcasts  of  all  the  Caffre  tribes,)  and  there  mur- 
dered them  in  the  night  after  they  had  Iain  down  to  sleep,  for  the  sake  of  the 
few  trifling  articles  which  they  carried  with  them  for  the  purchase  of  food  by 
the  way.  Two  of  the  assessing  were  long  afterwards  taken  by  some  of  their 
own  wild  countrymen,  and  by  them  delivered  up  to  the  colonial  authorities. 
One-  of  these  was  the  arch-traitor,  called  Naangaap,  who  with  his  own  hand 
hurled  the  stone  which  caused  the  dentil  uf  the  missionary.  He  was  tried  at 
Clanwllliam,  and  condemned  to  be  shot.  On  their  way  to  the  place  appointed 
for  execution,  the  escort  halted  at  Lily  Fountain,  where  the  relative!  of  bii 
murdered  companion,  Jacob  Links,  resided.  These  came  out  of  their  dwelling! 
and  8|M>ke  to  the  criminal  upon  his  awful  situation,  of  which  he  seemed  little 
heedful.  Martha,  Jacob'*  sister,  was  especially  concerned  to  awaken  him  to 
a  sense  of  his  guilt  and  peril,  saying  to  him,  with  trtiu  Christian  meekness  and 
sympathy,— "I  am  Indeed  very  lorry  for  you,  though  you  have  killed  my  bro- 
•her,  because  you  are  indifferent  about  the  salvation  of  your  own  sinful  soul." 
On  the  30th  of  September,  1827,  In;  was  shot,  according  to  his  sentence,  by  six 
men  of  his  own  tribe,  at  .Silver  Fountain,  on  the  border  of  the  colony,  with  the 
entire  concurrence  of  tbc  chief,  who  bud  couiu  from  uis  dutant  residence  to 
witness  ih  •  execution. 

Mr.  Threlf.ill  was  a  young  man  who  had  served  on  several  missionary  station! 
In  South  Africa,  from  the  year  1622,  under  great  bodily  affliction  for  the  most 
part  of  the  time,  but  with  unquenchable  fervency  of  spirit,  and  devotion  to  the 
work  of  God  among  the  heathen.  Ilix  two  f.-ll"W  l.ilMHircrs  and  f«-llow-»uf- 
fertrs,  Jacob  Links  and  Johannes  Jafger,  had  voluntarily  offered  tbvniMlvM 


tT4  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

to  the  same  servire  and  sacrifice  with  him,  for  the  sake  of  carrying  the  gospel 
of  the  grace  of  God  to  their  benighted  countrymen  in  the  farther  region!  of 
Namaqua-lnnd. 

NOT  by  the  lion's  paw,  the  serpent's  tooth, 

By  suddep  sun-stroke,  or  hy  slow  decay, 
War,  famine,  plague, — meek  messenger  of  truth  ! — 

Wert  thou  arrested  on  thy  pilgrim-way. 

The  sultry  whirlwind  spared  thee  in  its  wrath, 
The  lightning  flash'd  before  thee,  and  pass'd  by, 

The  brooding  earthquake  paused  beneath  thy  path, 
The  mountain-torrent  shunn'd  thee,  or  ran  dry. 

Thy  march  was  through  the  savage  wilderness, 
Thine  errand  thither,  like  thy  gracious  LORD'S, 

To  seek  and  save  the  lost,  to  heal  and  bless 
Its  blind  and  lame,  diseased  and  dying  hordes. 

How  did  the  love  of  Christ,  that,  like  a  chain, 

Drew  Christ  himself  to  Bethlehem  from  his  throne, 

And  bound  Him  to  the  cross,  thine  heart  constrain, 
Thy  willing  heart,  to  make  that  true  love  known  ! 

But  not  to  build,  was  thine  appointed  part, 
Temple  where  temple  never  stood  before  ; 

Yet  was  it  well  the  thought  was  in  thine  heart, 

— Thou  know'st  it  now, — thy  LORD  required  no  more. 

The  wings  of  darkness  round  thy  tent  were  spread, 
The  wild  beast's  howlings  brake  not  thy  repose ; 

The  silent  stars  were  watching  overhead, 

Thy  friends  were  nigh  thee, — nigh  thee  were  thy  foes 

The  sun  went  down  upon  thine  evening  prayer, 

He  rose  upon  thy  finish'd  sacrifice  ; 
The  house  of  GOD,  the  gate  of  heaven,  was  there  ; 

Angels  and  fiends  on  thee  had  fix'd  their  eyes. 

At  midnight,  in  a  moment,  open  stood 
Th'  eternal  doors  to  give  thy  spirit  room ; 

At  morn  the  earth  had  drunk  thy  guiltless  blood, 
— But  where  on  earth  may  now  be  found  thy  tomb  ? 


A    MIDNIGHT    THOUGHT.  «75 


At  rest  beneath  the  ever-shifting  sand, 
This  thine  unsculptured  epitaph  remain, 

Till  the  last  trump  shall  summon  sea  and  land, 
"  To  me  to  live  was  Christ ;  to  die  was  gain." 

And  must  with  thee  thy  slain  companions  lie, 
Unmourn'd,  unsung,  forgotten  where  they  feL? 

Oh  !  for  the  spirit  and  power  of  prophecy, 

Their  life,  their  death,  the  fruits  of  both  to  tell ! 

They  took  the  cross,  they  bore  it,  they  lay  down 

Beneath  it,  woke,  and  found  that  cross  their  crown. 

O'er  their  lost  relics,  on  the  spot  where  guilt 
Slew  sleeping  innocence,  and  hid  the  crime, 

A  church  of  Christ,  amidst  the  desert  built, 
May  gather  converts  till  the  end  of  time, 

And  there,  with  them,  their  kindred,  dust  to  dust. 

Await  *he  resurrection  of  the  just. 


A  MIDNIGHT  THOUGHT. 

IN  a  land  of  strange  delight, 
My  transported  spirit  stray'd ; 

I  awake  where  all  is  night, 
Silence,  solitude,  and  shade. 

Is  the  dream  of  Nature  flown  ? 

Is  the  universe  destroy'd, 
Man  extinct,  and  I  alone 

Breathing  through  the  formless  void  ? 

No : — my  soul,  in  GOD  rejoice ! 

Through  the  gloom  his  light  I  see, 
In  the  silence  hear  his  voice, 

And  his  hand  is  over  me. 

When  I  slumber  in  the  tomb, 
He  will  guard  my  rpsting-plac"e : 

Fearless  in  the  day  of  doom 
May  I  stand  before  his  face* 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


THE  PEAK  MOUNTAINS: 

IN   TWO    PARTS. 

WRITTEN  AT  BUXTON,    IN   AUBUST,    1812. 

It  may  be  useful  to  remark,  that  the  scenery  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Ruxton, 
when  surveyed  from  any  of  the  surrounding  eminences,  consists  chiefly  of 
numerous  and  naked  hills,  of  which  many  are  yet  uneml<  seri,  and  the  real 
poorly  cultivated  ;  the  whole  district,  except  in  (he  immediate  precincts  of  the 
Baths  and  the  village  of  Fuirfield,  being  miserably  bare  of  both  trees  and  bouse*. 

PART    I. 

HEALTH  on  these  open  hills  I  seek, 

By  these  delicious  springs,  in  vain ; 
The  rose  on  this  deserted  cheek  * 

Shall  never  bloom  again  ; 
For  youth  is  fled  ; — and  less  by  time 

Than  sorrow  torn  away, 
The  pride,  the  strength  of  manhood's  prime, 

Falls  to  decay. 

Restless  and  fluttering  to  expire, 

Life's  vapour  sheds  a  cold  dim  light, 
Frail  as  the  evanescent  fire 

Amidst  the  murky  night, 
That  tempts  the  traveller  from  afar 

To  follow,  o'er  the  heath, 
Its  baleful  and  bewildering  star 

To  snares  of  death. 

A  dreary  torpor  numbs  my  brain  ; 

Now  shivering  pale, — now  flush'd  with  heal ; 
Hurried,  then  slow,  from  vein  to  vein 

Unequal  pulses  beat ;    - 


THE    PEAK    MOUNTAINS. 


Quick  palpitations  heave  my  heart, 

Anon  it  seems  to  sink  ; 
Alarm'd  at  sudden  sounds  I  start, 

From  shadows  shrink. 

Bear  me,  my  failing  limbs  !  Oh,  bear 

A  melancholy  sufferer  forth, 
To  breathe  abroad  the  mountain  air 

Fresh  from  the  vigorous  north  ; 
To  view  the  prospect,  waste  and  wild, 

Tempestuous  or  serene, 
Still  dear  to  me,  as  to  the  child 

The  mother's  mien. 

Ah  !  who  can  look  on  Nature's  face, 

And  feel  unholy  passions  move  ? 
Her  forms  of  majesty  and  grace 

I  cannot  choose  but  love : 
Her  frowns  or  smiles  my  woes  disarm, 

Care  and  repining  cease ; 
Her  terrors  awe,  her  beauties  charm 

My  thoughts  to  peace. 

Already  through  mine  inmost  soul, 

A  deep  tranquillity  I  feel, 
O'er  every  nerve,  with  mild  control, 

Her  consolations  steal ; 
This  fever' d  frame  and  fretful  mind, 

Jarring  midst  doubts  and  fears, 
Are  soothed  to  harmony  : — I  find 

Delight  in  tears. 

I  quit  the  path,  and  track  with  toil 

The  mountains'  unfrequented  maze; 
Deep  moss  and  heather  clothe  the  soil, 

And  many  a  springlet  plays, 
That  welling  from  its  secret  source 

Down  rugged  di-lls  is  tost, 
Or  spreads  through  rushy  fens  its  course, 

Silently  lost. 


178  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

The  flocks  and  herds,  that  freely  range 

These  moorlands,  turn  a  jealous  eye, 
As  if  the  form  of  man  were  strange, 

To  watch  me  stealing  by  ; 
The  heifer  stands  aloof  to  gaze, 

The  colt  comes  boldly  on  : — 
I  pause, — he  shakes  his  forelock,  neighs, 

Starts,  and  is  gone. 

I  seek  the  valley  : — all  alone 

I  seem  in  this  sequester'd  place ; 
Not  so ;  I  meet,  unseen,  yet  known, 

My  Maker  face  to  face  ; 
My  heart  perceives  his  presence  nigh, 

And  hears  his  voice  proclaim, 
While  bright  his  glory  passes  by, 

His  noblest  name. 

LOVE  is  that  name,— for  GOD  is  LOVE ; 

— Here,  where  unbuilt  by  mortal  hands, 
Mountains  below  and  heaven  above, 

His  awful  templte  stands, 
I  worship : — "  Lord  !  though  I  am  dust 

And  ashes  in  thy  sight, 
Be  thou  my  strength ;  in  Thee  I  trust : 

Be  thou  my  light." 

PART    II. 

EMERGING  from  the  cavern'd  glen, 

From  steep  to  steep  I  slowly  climb, 
And  far  above  the  haunts  of  men, 

I  tread  in  air  sublime : 
Beneath  my  path  the  swallows  sweep  ; 

Yet  higher  craggs  impend, 
And  wild  flowers  from  the  fissures  peep, 

And  rills  descend. 

Now  on  the  ridges  bare  and  bleak, 

Cool  round  my  temples  sighs  the  gale , 


THE   PEAK    MOUNTAINS.  ri 

Ye  w  inds  !  that  wander  o'er  the  Peak ; 

Ye  mountain-spirits  !  hail ! 
Angels  of  health  !  to  man  below 

Ye  bring  celestial  airs ; 
Bear  back  to  Him,  from  whom  ye  blow, 

Our  praise  and  prayers. 

Here,  like  the  eagle  from  his  nest, 

I  take  my  proud  and  dizzy  stand ; 
Here,  from  the  cliff's  sublimest  crest, 

Look  down  upon  the  land: 
Oh  !  for  the  eagle's  eye  to  gaze 

Undazzled  through  this  light ! 
Oh  !  for  the  eagle's  wings  to  raise 

O'er  all  my  flight. 

The  sun  in  glory  walks  the  sky, 

White  fleecy  clouds  are  floating  round, 
Whose  shapes  along  the  landscape  fly, 

— Here,  chequering  o'er  the  ground ; 
There,  do.vn  the  glens  the  shadows  sweep, 

With  changing  lights  between ; 
Yonder  they  climb  the  upland  steep, 

Shifting  the  scene. 

Above,  beneath,  immensely  spread, 

Valleys  and  hoary  rocks  I  view, 
Heights  over  heights  exalt  their  head, 

Of  many  a  sombre  hue  ; 
No  waving  woods  their  flanks  adorn, 

No  hedge-rows,  gay  with  trees, 
Encircle  fields,  where  floods  of  corn 

Roll  to  the  breeze. 

My  soul  this  vast  horizon  fills, 

Within  whose  undulated  line 
Thick  stand  the  multitude  of  hills, 

And  clear  the  waters  shine  ; 
Gray  mossy  walls  the  slopes  ascend; 

While  roads,  that  tire  the  eye, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Upward  their  winding  course  extend, 
And  touch  the  sky. 

With  rude  diversity  of  form, 

The  insulated  mountains  tower; 
— Oft  o'er  these  clifls  the  transient  storm 

And  partial  darkness  lower, 
While  yonder  summits  far  away 

Shine  sweetly  through  the  gloom, 
Like  glimpses  of  eternal  day 

Beyond  the  tomb. 

Hither,  of  old,  the  Almighty  came  ; 

Clouds  were  his  car,  his  steeds  the  wind; 
Before  Him  went  devouring  flame, 

And  thunder  roll'd  behind  ; 
At  his  approach  the  mountains  reel'd 

Like  vessels  to  and  fro  ; 
Earth,  heaving  like  a  sea,  reveal'd 

The  gulfs  below. 

Borne  through  the  wilderness  in  wrath, 

He  seem'd  in  power  alone  a  God  ; 
But  blessings  follow'd  in  his  path, 

For  Mercy  seized  his  red ; 
She  smote  the  rock, — and  as  He  pass'd, 

Forth  gush'd  a  living  stream  ; 
The  fire,  the  earthquake,  and  the  blast 

Fled  as  a  dream. 

Behold  the  everlasting  hills, 

In  that  convulsion  scatter' d  round  ; 
Hark  !  from  their  caves  the  issuing  rills 

With  sweetest  music  sound  ; 
Ye  lame  and  impotent !  draw  near; 

With  healing  on  her  wing, 
The  cherub  Mercy  watches  here 

Her  ancient  spring. 


TO    ANNE   AND   JANK.  HI 


TO  ANN  AND  JANE: 

VERSES  WKITTEJI  ox  A  BLANK  LEAF  IN  THE  SMALL  VOLUME  o» 
HYMNS  FOR  INFANT  MINDS. 

WHEN  the  shades  of  night  retire 
From  the  morn's  advancing  beams, 
Ere  the  hills  are  tipt  with  fire, 
And  the  radiance  lights  the  streams, 
Lo,  the  larlc  begins  her  song, 
Early  on  the  wing,  and  long. 

Summon'd  by  the  signal  notes, 
Soon  her  sisters  quit  the  lawn, 
With  their  wildly  warbling  throats, 
Soaring  in  the  dappled  dawn  ; 
Brighter,  wanner  spread  the  rays, 
Louder,  sweeter  swell  their  lays. 

Nestlings,  in  their  grassy  beds, 
Hearkening  to  the  joyful  sound, 
Heavenward  point  th'.'ir  little  heads, 
Lowly  twittering  from  the  ground, 
Ere  their  wings  are  fledged  to  fly, 
To  the  chorus  in  the  sky. 

Thus,  fair  Minstrels,  while  ye  sing, 
Teaching  infant  minds  to  raise 
To  the  universal  King 
Humble  hymns  of  prayer  and  praise. 
O  may  all  who  hear  your  voice 
Look,  and  listen,  and  rejoice  ! 

Faltering  like  the  skylark's  young, 
While  your  numbers  they  record, 
Soon  may  every  heart  and  tongue 
Learn  to  magnify  the  Lord  ; 
And  your  strains  divinely  sweet, 
Unborn  millions  thus  repeat. 

24* 


182  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Minstrels!  what  reward  is  due 
For  this  labour  of  your  love  ? 
— Through  eternity  may  You, 
In  the  Paradise  above, 
Round  the  dear  Redeemer's  feet, 
All  your  infant  readers  meet ! 


TRANSMIGRATIONS. 

A  HAIL-STONE,  from  the  cloud  set  free, 
Shot,  slanting  coastward,  o'er  the  sea, 
And  thus,  as  eastern  tales  relate, 
Lamented  its  untimely  fate  : 
"  Last  moment  born,  condemn'd  in  this, 
The  next  absorpt  in  yon  abyss  ; 
'Twere  better  ne'er  to  know  the  light, 
Than  see  and  perish  at  first  sight." 
— An  oyster  heard,  and  as  it  fell, 
Welcomed  the  outcast  to  her  shell, 
Where  meekly  suffering  that  "  sea-change,' 
It  grew  to  "  something  rich  and  strange," 
And  thence  became  the  brightest  gem 
That  decks  the  Sultan's  diadem, 
Turn'd  from  a  particle  of  ice 
Into  a  pearl  of  priceless  price. 
— Thus  can  the  power  that  rules  o'er  all 
Exalt  the  humble  by  their  fall. 

A  dew-drop,  in  the  flush  of  morn, 
Sparkled  upon  ablossom'd  thorn, 
Reflecting  from  its  mirror  pure 
The  sun  himself  in  miniature. 
Dancing  for  gladness  on  the  spray, 
It  miss'd  its  hold,  and  slid  away ; 
A  lark,  just  mounting  up  to  sing, 
Caught  the  frail  trembler  on  its  wing, 


TRANSMIGRATIONS. 


But,  borne  aloft  through  gathering  clouds, 
Left  it  entangled  with  their  shrouds: 
Lost,  and  for  ever  lost,  it  seem'd, 
When  suddenly  the  sun  forth  gleam'd, 
And  round  the  showery  vapours  threw 
A  rainbow, — where  our  drop  of  dew 
Midst  the  prismatic  hues  of  heaven 
Outshone  the  beams  of  all  the  seven. 
When  virtue  falls,  'tis  not  to  die, 
But  be  translated  to  the  sky. 

A  babe  into  existence  came, 
A  feeble,  helpless,  suffering  frame  ; 
It  breathed  on  earth  a  little  while, 
Then  vanish'd,  like  a  tear,  a  smile, 
That  springs  and  falls, — that  peers  and  parts, 
The  grief,  the  joy  of  loving  hearts  ; 
The  grave  received  the  body  dead 
Where  all  that  live  must  find  their  bed 
Sank  then  the  soul  to  dust  and  gloom, 
Worms  and  corruption  in  the  tomb  ? 
No, — midst  the  rainbow  round  the  throne, 
Caught  up  to  paradise,  it  shone, 
And  yet  shall  shine,  until  the  day 
When  heaven  and  earth  must  pass  away, 
And  those  that  sleep  in  Jesus  here, 
With  him  in  glory  shall  appear. 
Then  shall  that  soul  and  body  meet ; 
And  when  his  jewels  are  complete, 
Midst  countless  millions,  form  a  gem 
In  the  Redeemer's  diadem, 
Wherewith  as  thorns  his  brows  once  bound, 
He  for  his  sufferings  shall  be  crown'd; 
Raised  from  the  ignominious  tree 
To  the  right-hand  of  Majesty, 
Head  over  all  created  things, 
The  Lord  of  lords,  the  King  of  kings 


984  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


CIIATTERTON. 

Stanza*  on  reading  the  Verses  entitled  "  Resignation,"  written  by  Chatterton, 
a  few  days  before  his  melancholy  end. 

A  DYING  swan  of  Pindus  sings 

In  wildly  mournful  strains  ; 
As  Death's  cold  fingers  snap  the  strings, 

His  suffering  lyre  complains. 

Soft  as  the  mist  of  evening  wends 

Along  the  shadowy  vale  ; 
Sad  as  in  storms  the  moon  ascends, 

And  turns  the  darkness  pale  ; 

So  soft  the  melting  numbers  flow 

From  his  harmonious  lips  ; 
So  sad  his  wo-wan  features  show, 

Just  fading  in  eclipse. 

The  Bard,  to  dark  despair  resign'd, 

With  his  expiring  art, 
Sings,  midst  the  tempest  of  his  mind, 

The  shipwreck  of  his  heart. 

If  Hope  still  seem  to  linger  nigh, 

And  hover  o'er  his  head, 
Her  pinions  are  too  weak  to  fly, 

Or  Hope  ere  now  had  fled. 

Rash  Minstrel !  who  can  hear  thy  songs* 

Nor  long  to  share  thy  fire  1 
Who  read  thine  errors  and  thy  wrongs, 

Nor  execrate  the  lyre  ? 

The  lyre,  that  sunk  thee  to  the  grave, 
When  bursting  into  bloom, 


A    DAUGHTER    (C.  M.)    TO    HER   MOTHER. 

That  lyre  the  power  to  Genius  gave 
To  blossom  in  the  tomb. 

Yes ; — till  his  memory  fail  with  years, 
Shall  TIME  thy  strains  recite  ; 

And  while  thy  story  swells  his  tears, 
Thy  song  shall  charm  his  flight. 

1802. 


A  DAUGHTER  (C.  M.)  TO  HER  MOTHER, 

ON   HER    BIRTH-DAY,    NOVEMBER   25,    1811. 

THIS  the  day  to  me  most  dear 
In  the  changes  of  the  year ; 
Spring,  the  fields  and  woods  adorning, 
Spring  may  boast  a  gayer  morning; 
Summer  noon,  with  brighter  beams, 
Gild  the  mountains  and  the  streams ; 
Autumn,  through  the  twilight  vale, 
Breathe  a  more  delicious  gale  : 
Yet  though  stern  November  reigns 
Wild  and  wintry  o'er  the  plains. 
Never  does  the  morning  rise 
Half  so  welcome  to  mine  eyes ; 
Noontide  glories  never  shed 
Rays  so  beauteous  round  my  head ; 
Never  looks  the  evening  scene 
So  enclmntingly  serene, 
As  on  this  returning  day, 
When,  in  spirit  rapt  away, 
Joys  and  sorrows  I  have  known, 
In  the  years  for  ever  flown, 
Wake  at  every  sound  and  sight, 
Reminiscence  of  delight: 
Alt  around  me,  all  above, 
Witnessing  a  Mother's  lore 


f80  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Love,  that  watch'd  my  early  years 
With  conflicting  hopes  and  fears ; 
Love,  that  through  life's  flowery  May 
Led  my  childhood,  prone  to  stray  ; 
Love,  that  still  directs  my  youth 
With  the  constancy  of  Truth, 
Heightens  every  bliss  it  shares, 
Softens  and  divides  the  cares, 
Smiles  away  my  light  distress, 
Weeps  for  joy,  or  tenderness  : 
— May  that  love,  to  latest  age, 
Cheer  my  earthly  pilgrimage  ; 
May  that  love,  o'er  death  victorious, 
Rise  beyond  the  grave  more  glorious ; 
Souls,  united  here,  would  be 
One  to  all  eternity. 

When  these  eyes,  from  native  night, 
First  unfolded  to  the  light,  ' 
On  what.object,  fair  and  new, 
Did  they  fix  their  fondest  view  ? 
On  my  Mother's  smiling  mien  ; 
All  the  mother  there  was  seen. 
When  their  weary  lids  would  close, 
And  she  sang  me  to  repose, 
Found  I  not  the  sweetest  rest 
On  my  Mother's  peaceful  breast  ? 
When  my  tongue  from  hers  had  caught 
Sounds  to  utter  infant  thought, 
Readiest  then  what  accents  came  ? 
Those  that  meant  my  Mother's  name. 
When  my  timid  feet  begun, 
Strangely  pleased,  to  stand  or  run, 
'Twas  my  Mother's  voice  and  eye 
Most  encouraged  me  to  try, 
Safe  to  run,  and  strong  to  stand, 
Holding  by  her  gentle  hand. 

Time  since  then  hath  deeper  made 
Lines,  where  youthful  dimples  play'd, 


A   DAUGHTER    (c.  M.)    TO    HER   MOTHER. 

Yet  to  me  my  Mother's  face 
Wears  a  more  angelic  grace  ; 
And  her  tresses,  thin  and  hoary, 
Are  they  not  a  crown  of  glory  ? 
• — Cruel  griefs  have  wrung  that  breast, 
Once  my  Paradise  of  rest ; 
While  in  these  I  bear  a  part, 
Warmer  grows  my  Mother's  heart, 
Closer  our  affections  twine, 
Mine  with  hers,  and  hers  with  mine. 
—Many  a  name,  since  hers  I  knew, 
Have  I  loved  with  honour  due, 
But  no  name  shall  be  more  dear 
Than  my  Mother's  to  mine  ear. 
— Many  a  hand  that  Friendship  plighted, 
Have  I  clasp'd  with  all  delighted, 
But  more  faithful  none  can  be 
Than  my  Mother's  hand  to  me. 
Thus  by  every  tie  endear'd, 
Thus  with  filial  reverence  fear'd, 
Mother  !  on  this  day  'tis  meet 
That,  with  salutation  sweet, 
I  should  wish  you  years  of  health, 
Worldly  happiness  and  wealth, 
And  when  good  old  age  is  past, 
Heaven's  eternal  peace  at  last ! 
But  with  these  I  frame  a  vow 
For  a  double  blessing  now ; 
One,  that  richly  shall  combine          , 
Your  felicity  with  mine  ; 
One,  in  which  with  soul  and  voice, 
Both  together  may  rejoice  ; 
Oh  !  what  shall  that  blessing  be  ? 
— Dearest  Mother !  may  you  see 
All  your  prayers  fulfill'd/wr  me! 


S88  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

ON  FINDING  THE  FEATHERS  OF  A  LINNET 

SCATTERED    ON   THE   GROUND   IN   A   SOLITARY    WALE. 

THESE  little  relics,  hapless  bird  ! 

That  strew  the  lonely  vale, 
With  silent  eloquence  record 

Thy  melancholy  tale. 

Like  Autumn's  leaves,  that  rustle  round 

From  every  withering  tree, 
These  plumes,  dishevell'd  o'er  the  ground, 

Alone  remain  of  thee. 

Some  hovering  kite's  rapacious  maw 

Hath  been  thy  timeless  grave : 
No  pitying  eye  thy  murder  saw, 

No  friend  appear'd  to  save. 

Heaven's  thunder  smite  the  guilty  foe ! 

No  : — spare  the  tyrant's  breath, 
Till  wintry  winds,  and  famine  slow, 

Avenge  thy  cruel  death  ! 

But  every  feather  of  thy  wing 

Be  quicken'd  where  it  lies, 
And  at  the  soft  return  of  spring, 

A  fragrant  cowslip  rise  ! 

Few  were  thy  days,  thy  pleasures  few, 

Simple  and  unconfined  ; 
On  sunbeams  every  moment  flew, 

Nor  left  a  care  behind. 

In  spring  to  build  thy  curious  nest, 

And  woo  thy  merry  bride, 
Carol  and  fly,  and  sport  and  rest, 

Was  all  thy  humble  pride. 

Happy  beyond  the  lot  of  kings, 
Thy  bosom  knew  no  smart, 


THE   LINNET. 


Till  the  last  pang,  that  tore  the  strings 
From  thy  dissever'd  heart. 

When  late  to  secret  griefs  a  prey 

I  wander' d  slowly  here, 
Wild  from  the  copse  an  artless  lay, 

Like  magic,  won  mine  ear. 

Perhaps  'twas  thy  last  evening  song, 

That  exquisitely  stole 
In  sweetest  melody  along, 

And  harmonized  my  soul. 

Now,  blithe  musician  !  now  no  more, 

Thy  mellow  pipe  resounds, 
But  jarring  drums  at  distance  roar, 

And  yonder  howl  the  hounds : 

The  hounds  that  through  the  echoing  wood 

The  panting  hare  pursue ; 
The  drums,  that  wake  the  cry  of  blood, 

The  voice  of  Glory  too ! 

Here  at  my  feet  thy  frail  remains, 

Unwept,  unburied,  lie, 
Like  victims  on  embattled  plains, 

Forsaken  where  they  die. 

Yet  could  the  muse  whose  strains  rehearsj 

Thine  unregarded  doom, 
Enshrine  thee  in  immortal  verse, 

Kings  should  not  scorn  thy  tomb. 

Though  brief  as  thine  my  tuneful  date, 
When  wandering  near  this  spot, 

The  sad  memorials  of  thy  fate 
Shall  never  be  forgot. 

While  doom'd  the  lingering  pangs  to  feel 

Of  many  a  nameless  fear, 
One  truant  sigh  from  these  I'll  steal, 

And  drop  one  willing  tear. 

rm 


~ 


t»  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


OCCASIONAL  ODE 

FOR   THE   ANNIVERSARY   OF   THE    ROYAL   BRITISH   SYSTEM   OF 
EDUCATION, 

HELD  AT  FREEMASON'S  HALL,  MAT  16,  1812. 

THE  lion,  o'er  his  wild  domains, 

Rules  with  the  terror  of  his  eye ; 
The  eagle  of  the  rock  maintains 

By  force  his  empire  in  the  sky ; 
The  shark,  the  tyrant  of  the  flood, 

Reigns  through  the  deep  with  quenchless  rage  : 
Parent  and  young,  unwean'd  from  blood, 

Are  still  the  same  from  age  to  age. 

Of  all  that  live,  and  move,  and  breathe, 

Man  only  rises  o'er  his  birth  ; 
He  looks  above,  around,  beneath, 

At  once  the  heir  of  heaven  and  earth : 
Force,  cunning,  speed,  which  Nature  gave 

The  various  tribes  throughout  her  plan, 
Life  to  enjoy,  from  death  to  save, — 

These  are  the  lowest  powers  of  Man. 

From  strength  to  strength  he  travels  on : 

He  leaves  the  lingering  brute  behind; 
And  when  a  few  short  years  are  gone, 

He  soars,  a  disembodied  mind  : 
Beyond  the  grave,  his  course  sublime 

Destined  through  nobler  paths  to  run, 
In  his  career  the  end  of  Time 

Is  but  Eternity  begun. 

What  guides  him  in  his  high  pursuit, 

Opens,  illumines,  cheers  his  way, 
Discerns  the  immortal  from  the  brute, 

God's  image  from  the  mould  of  clay  ? 


DEPARTED  DAYS. 


'Tis  knowledge  : — Knowledge  to  the  soul 
Is  power,  and  liberty,  and  peace ; 

And  while  celestial  ages  roll, 

The  joys  of  Knowledge  shall  increase. 

Hail !  to  the  glorious  plan,  that  spread 

The  lighjwith  universal  beams, 
And  through  the  human  desert  led 

Truth's  living,  pure,  perpetual  streams, 
—Behold  a  new  creation  rise, 

New  spirit  breathed  into  the  clod, 
Where'er  the  voice  of  Wisdom  cries, 

"Man,  know  thyself,  and  fear  thy  God." 


DEPARTED  DAYS  : 

A   RHAPSODY. 

WRITTEN   OH    VISITING   FULNECK,    IN    YORKSHIRE,    WHERE  TOE   AUTHO* 
WAS   EDUCATED,    IN    THE   SPRINU  OF    1806. 

DAYS  of  my  childhood,  hail ! 
Whose  gentle  spirits  wandering  here, 
Down  in  the  visionary  vale, 
Before  mine  eyes  appear, 
Benignly  pensive,  beautifully  pale; 
O  days  for  ever  fled,  for  ever  dear, 
Days  of  my  childhood,  hail ! 

Joys  of  my  early  hours ! 

The  swallows  on  the  wing, 

The  bees  among  the  flowers, 

The  butterflies  of  spring, 

Light  as  their  lovely  moments  flew, 
Were  not  more  gay,  more  innocent  than  you  • 

And  fugitive  as  they, 

Like  butterflies  in  spring, 

Like  bees  among  the  flowers, 

Like  swallows  on  the  wing, 
How  swift,  how  soon  ye  puss'd  away, 

Joys  of  my  early  hours ! 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


The  loud  Atlantic  ocean, 

On  Scotland's  rugged  breast, 

Rocks,  with  harmonious  motion, 

His  weary  waves  to  rest, 

And  gleaming  round  her  emerald  isles, 

In  all  the  pomp  of  sunset  smiles. 

On  that  romantic  shore 

My  parents  hail'd  their  first-born  boy  : 

A  mother's  pangs  my  mother  bore, 

My  father  felt  a  father's  joy  : 

My  father,  mother,  —  parents  now  no  more  : 

Beneath  the  Lion-Star  they  sleep, 

Beyond  the  western  deep, 

And  when  the  sun's  noon-glory  crests  the  waves, 
He  shines  without  a  shadow  on  their  graves. 

Sweet  seas,  and  smiling  shores  ! 

When  no  tornado-demon  roars, 

Resembling  that  celestial  clime 

Where,  with  the  spirits  of  the  blest, 

Beyond  the  hurricanes  of  Time, 

From  all  their  toils  my  parents  rest  ; 

Their  skies,  eternally  serene, 

Diffuse  ambrosial  balm 

Through  sylvan  isles  for  ever  green, 

O'er  seas  for  ever  calm  ; 
While  saints  and  angels,  kindling  in  his  rays, 
On  the  full  glory  of  the  Godhead  gaze, 
And  taste  and  prove,  in  that  transporting  sight, 
Joy  without  sorrow,  without  darkness  light. 

Light  without  darkness,  without  sorrow  joy, 
On  earth  are  all  unknown  to  man  ; 
Here,  while  I  roved,  a  heedless  boy, 
Here,  while  through  paths  of  peace  I  ran, 
My  feet  were  vex'd  with  puny  snares, 
My  bosom  stung  with  insect-cares  : 
But  ah  !  what  light  and  little  things 
Are  childhood's  woes  !  —  they  break  no  rest  ; 


DEPARTED  DAYS. 


Like  d^w-drops  on  the  skylark's  wings, 
While  slumbering  in  his  grassy  nest, 
Gone  in  a  moment  when  he  springs 
To  meet  the  morn  with  opon  breast, 
As  O'T  ihp  eastern  hills  her  banners  glow, 
And  veil'd  in  misl  the  valley  sleeps  beiow. 

Like  him  on  these  delightful  plains, 
I  taught,  with  fearless  voice, 
The  echoing  woods  to  sound  my  strains, 
The  mountains  to  rejoice, 
Hail !  to  the  trees  beneath  whose  shade, 
Rapt  into  worlds  unseen  I  stray'd  ; 
Hail !  to  the  stream  that  purl'd  along 
In  hoarse  accordance  to  my  song ; 
My  song  that  pour'd  uncensured  lays, 
Tuned  to  a  dying  Saviour's  praise, 
In  numbers  simple,  wild,  and  sweet, 
As  were  the  flowers  beneath  my  feet; — 
Those  flowers  are  dead, 
Those  numbers  fled, 
Yet  o'er  my  secret  thought, 
From  cold  Oblivion's  silent  gloom, 
Their  music  to  mine  car  is  brought, 
Like  voices  from  the  tomb. 
And  yet  in  this  untainted  breast 
No  baleful  passion  burVd, 
Ambition  had  not  bani>  'd  rest. 
Nor  hope  had  earth  wan   turn'd  ; 
Proud  Reason  still  in  sh    'o\v  lay, 
And  in  my  firmament  ale  e, 
Forerunner  of  the  day, 
The  dazzling  star  of  wondt    shone, 
By  whose  enchanting  ray 
Creation  open'd  on  my  earli  *t  view, 
And  all  was  beautiful,  for  all  vas  new. 

Too  soon  my  mind's  awaU  -ning  powew 
Made  the  light  slumbers  Lee, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Then  vanish'd  with  the  golden  hours, 

The  morning  dreams  of  Infancy  ; 
Sweet  were  those  slumbers,  dear  those  dreams  to  me; 
And  yet  to  mournful  memory  lingering  here, 
Sweet  are  those  slumbers,  and  those  dreams  are  dear: 
For  hither,  from  my  native  clime, 
The  hand  that  leads  Orion  forth, 
And  wheels  Arcturus  round  the  north, 
Brought  me,  in  Life's  exulting  prime : 
— Blest  be  that  hand! — Whether  it  shed 
Mercies  or  judgments  on  my  head, 
Extend  the  sceptre  or  exalt  the  rod,— 
Blest  be  that  hand  ! — It  is  the  hand  of  GOD.1 


THE  BIBLE. 

WHAT  is  the  world  ! — A  wildering  maze, 
Where  sin  hath  track'd  ten  thousand  ways. 

Her  victims  to  ensnare ; 
All  broad,  and  winding,  and  aslope, 
All  tempting  with  perfidious  hope, 

All  ending  in  despair. 

Millions  of  pilgrims  throng  those  roads, 
Bearing  their  baubles,  or  their  loads, 

Down  to  eternal  ni^ht ; 
— One  humble  path,  that  never  bends, 
Narrow,  and  rough,  and  steep,  ascends 

From  darkness  into  light. 

Is  there  a  Guide  to  show  that  path  ? 
The  Bible : — He  alone,  who  hath 

The  Bible,  need  not  stray: 
Yet  he  who  hath,  and  will  not  give 
That  heavenly  Guide  to  all  that  lire 

Flitnself  shall  lose  the  way. 


THE    WILD    ROSE. 


THE  WILD  ROSE : 

ON   PLUCKING   ONE   LATE   IN   THE   MONTH   OF    OCTOBER. 

THOU  last  pale  promise  of  the  waning  year, 

Poor  sickly  Rose  !  what  dost  thou  fcere  ? 

Why,  frail  flo\ver !  so  late  a  comer, 

Hast  thou  slept  away  the  summer  ? 

Since  now,  in  Autumn's  sullen  reign, 

When  ev'ry  breeze 

Unrobes  the  trees, 

And  strews  their  annual  garments  on  the  plain, 

Awaking  from  repose, 

Thy  fairy  lids  unclose. 

Feeble,  evanescent  flower, 
Smile  away  thy  sunless  hour ; 
Every  daisy,  in  my  walk, 
Scorns  thee  from  its  humbler  stalk : 
Nothing  but  thy  form  discloses 
Thy  descent  from  royal  roses  : 
How  thine  ancestors  would  blush 
To  behold  thee  on  their  bush, 
Drooping  thy  dejected  head 
Where  their  bolder  blossoms  spread ; 
Withering  in  the  frosty  gale, 
Where  their  fragrance  fill'd  the  vale. 

Last  and  meanest  of  thy  race, 
Void  of  beauty,  colour,  grace, 
No  bee  delighted  sips 
Ambrosia  from  thy  lips  ; 
No  spangling  dew-drops  gem 
Thy  fine  elastic  stem ; 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


No  living  lustre  glistens  o'er  thy  bloom, 

Thy  sprigs  no  verdant  leaves  adorn, 

Thy  bosom  breathes  no  exquisite  perfume; 

But  pale  thy  countenance  as  snow, 

While,  unconceal'd  below, 

All  naked  glares  the  threatening  thorn. 

Around  thy  bell,  o'er  mildew'd  leaves, 
His  ample  web  a  spider  weaves ; 
A  wily  ruffian,  gaunt  and  grim, 
His  labyrinthine  toils  he  spreads 
Pensile  and  light ; — their  glossy  threads 
Bestrew'd  with  many  a  wing  and  limb ; 
Even  in  thy  chalice  he  prepares 
His  deadly  poison  and  delusive  snares. 

While  I  pause,  a  vagrant  fly 
Giddily  comes  buzzing  by  ; 
Round  and  round,  on  viewless  wings, 
Lo !  the  insect  wheels  and  sings : 
Closely  couch'd,  the  fiend  discovers, 
Sets  him  with  his  sevenfold  eyes, 
And,  while  o'er  the  verge  he  hovers, 
Seems  to  fascinate  his  prize, 
As  the  snake's  magnetic  glare 
Charms  the  flitting  tribes  of  air, 
Till  the  dire  enchantment  draws 
Destined  victims  to  his  jaws. 
Now  midst  kindred  corses  mangled, 
On  his  feet  alights  the  fly ; 
Ah  !  he  feels  himself  entangled, 
Hark  !  he  pours  a  piteous  cry. 
Swift  as  Death's  own  arrows  dart, 
On  his  prey  the  spider  springs,- 
Wounds  his  side, — with  dexterous  art 
Winds  the  web  about  his  wings ; 
Quick  as  he  came,  recoiling  then, 
The  villain  vanishes  into  his  den. 


THE    WILD    ROSE. 


The  desperate  fly  perceives  too  late 
The  hastening  crisis  of  his  fate  ; 
Disaster  crowds  upon  disaster, 
And  every  struggle  to  get  free 
•  Snaps  the  hopes  of  liberty, 

And  draws  the  knots  of  bondage  faster. 

Again  the  spider  glides  along  the  line  ; 
Hold,  murderer !  hold  ; — the  game  is  mine 
— Captive  !  unwarn'd  by  danger,  go, 
Frolic  awhile  in  light  and  air; 
Thy  fate  'tis  easy  to  foreshow, 

Preserved to  perish  in  a  safer  snare ! 

Spider  !  thy  worthless  life  I  spare  ; 

Advice  on  thee  'twere  vain  to  spend, 

Thy  wicked  ways  thou  wilt  not  mend,— 

Then  haste  thee,  spoiler,  mend  thy  net ; 

Wiser  than  I 

Must  be  yon  fly, 

If  he  escapes  thy  trammels  yet ; 

Most  eagerly  the  trap  is  sought 

In  which  a  fool  has  once  been  caught. 

And  thou,  poor  Rose  !  whose  livid  leaves  expand. 
Cold  to  the  sun,  untempting  to  the  hand, 
Bloom  unadmired, — uninjured  die; 
Thine  aspect,  squalid  and  forlorn, 
Insures  thy  peaceful,  dull  decay  ; 
Hadst  thou  with  blushes  hid  thy  thorn, 
Grown  "  sweet  to  sense  and  lovely  to  the  eye," 
I  might  have  pluck'd  thy  flower, 
Worn  it  an  hour, 

"  Then  cast  it  like  a  loathsome  weed  away."* 
DM 

•  Olway'g  Orphan. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE  TIME-PIECE. 

WHO  is  He,  so  swiftly  flying, 
His  career  no  eye  can  see  ? 

Who  are  They,  so  early  dying, 
From  their  birth  they  cease  to  be  ? 

Time  : — behold  his  pictured  face  ! 

Moments  : — can  you  count  their  race  ? 

Though,  with  aspect  deep-dissembling, 
Here  he  feigns  unconscious  sleep, 

Round  and  round  this  circle  trembling, 
Day  and  night  his  symbols  creep, 

While  unseen,  through  earth  and  sky, 

His  unwearying  pinions  fly. 

Hark !  what  petty  pulses,  beating, 
Spring  new  moments  into  light; 

Every  pulse,  its  stroke  repeating, 
Sends  its  moment  back  to  night ; 

Yet  not  one  of  all  the  train 

Comes  uncall'd,  or  flits  in  vain.  • 

In  the  highest  realms  of  glory, 
Spirits  trace,  before  the  throne, 

On  eternal  scrolls,  the  story 
Of  each  little  moment  flown ; 

Every  deed,  and  word,  and  thought, 

Through  the  whole  creation  wrought. 

Were  the  volume  of  a  minute 
Thus  to  mortal  sight  unroll'd, 

More  of  sin  and  sorrow  in  it, 
More  of  man,  might  we  behold, 

Than  on  History's  broadest  page, 

In  the  relics  of  an  age. 

Who  could  bear  the  revelation  ? 
Who  abide  the  sudden  test  * 


THE    TIME-PIECF.. 


—With  instinctive  consternation, 

Hands  would  cover  every  brvast, 
Loudest  tongues  at  once  be  hushM, 
Pride  in  all  its  writhings  crush'd. 

Who,  with  leer  malign  exploring, 
On  his  neighbour's  shame  durst  look? 

Would  not  each,  intensely  poring 
On  that  record  in  the  book, 

Which  his  inmost  soul  reveal'd, 

Wish  its  leaves  for  ever  seal'd? 

Seal'd  they  are  for  years,  and  ages, 
Till, — the  earth's  last  circuit  run, 

Empire  changed  through  all  its  stages, 
Risen  and  set  the  latest  sun, — 

On  the  sea  and  on  the  land 

Shall  a  midnight  angel  stand  : — 

Stand  ; — and,  while  th'  abysses  tremble, 
Swear  that  Time  shall  be  no  more : 

Quick  and  Dead  shall  then  assemble, 
Men  and  Demons  range  before 

That  tremendous  judgment-seat, 

Where  both  worlds  at  issue  meet. 

Time  himself,  with  all  his  legions, 

Days,  Months,  Years,  since  Nature's  birth. 

Shall  revive, — and  from  all  regions, 
Singling  out  the  sons  of  earth, 

With  their  glory  or  disgrace, 

Charge  their  spenders  face  to  face. 

Every  moment  of  my  being 

Then  shall  pass  before  mine  eyes : 

—God,  all-searching  !  God,  all-seeing ! 
Oh  !  appease  them,  ere  they  rise : 

Warn'd  I  fly,  I  fly  to  thee ; 

God,  be  merciful  to  me  1 

l,  IS16 


300  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


A  MOTHER'S  LOVE. 

• 

A  MOTHER'S  Love, — how  sweet  the  name . 

What  is  a  Mother's  love  ? 
— A  noble,  pure,  and  tender  flame, 

Enkindled  from  above, 
To  bless  a -heart  of  earthly  mould ; 
The  warmest  love  that  can  grow  cold  v 

This  is  a  Mother's  Love. 

To  bring  a  helpless  babe  to  light. 

Then,  while  it  lies  forlorn, 
To  gaze  upon  that  dearest  sight, 

And  feel  herself  new-born, 
In  its  existence  lose  her  own, 
And  live  and  breathe  in  it  alone  ;• 

This  is  a  Mother's  Love. 

Its  weakness  in  her  arms  to  ksir; 

To  cherish  on  her  breast, 
Feed  it  from  Love's  own  fountain  theie, 

And  lull  it  there  to  rest ; 
Then,  while  it  slumbers,  watch  its  breath, 
As  if  to  guard  from  instant  death ; 

This  is  a  Mother's  Love. 

To  mark  its  growth  from  day  to  day, 

Its  opening  charms  admire, 
Catch  from  its  eye  the  earliest  ray 

Of  intellectual  fire ; 
To  smile  and  listen  while  it  talks, 
And  lend  a  finger  when  it  walks ; 

This  is  a  Mother's  Love. 

And  can  a  Mother's  Love  grow  cold  ? 

Can  she  forget  her  boy  ? 
His  pleading  innocence  behold, 

Nor  weep  for  grief — for  joy  ? 


A  MOTHER'S  LOVE. 


A  Mother  may  forget  her  child, 
While  wolves  devour  it  on  the  wild  ; 
Is  this  a  Mother's  Love  ? 

Ten  thousand  voices  answer  "  No !" 

Ye  clasp  your  babes  and  kiss  ; 
Your  bosoms  yearn,  your  eyes  o'erflow ; 

Yet,  ah  !  remember  this, — 
The  infant,  rear'd  alone  for  earth, 
May  live,  may  die, — to  curse  his  birth  ; 

Is  (his  a  Mother's  Love  ? 

A  parent's  heart  may  prove  a  snare ; 

The  child  she  loves  so  well, 
Her  hand  may  lead,  with  gentlest  care, 

Down  the  smooth  road  to  hell ; 
Nourish  its  frame, — destroy  its  mind: 
Thus  do  the  blind  mislead  the  blind, 

Even  with  a  Mother's  Love. 

Blest  infant !  whom  his  mother  taught 

Early  to  seek  the  Lord, 
And  pour'd  upon  his  dawning  thought 

The  day-spring  of  the  word ; 
This  was  the  lesson  to  her  son, 
— Time  is  Eternity  begun  : 

Behold  that  Mother's  Love.* 

Blest  Mother  !  who,  in  wisdom's  path 

By  her  own  parent  trod, 
Thus  taught  her  son  to  flee  the  wrath, 

And  know  the  fear,  of  God  : 
Ah,  youth  !  like  him  enjoy  your  prime ; 
Begin  Eternity  in  time, 

Taught  by  that  Mother's  Love. 

That  Mother's  Love ! — how  sweet  the  name  I 

What  was  that  Mother's  Love  T 
— The  noblest,  purest,  tenderest  flame, 

That  kindles  from  above, 

•1  Tim.  1.  S;  ill.  14   19. 
26 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Within  a  heart  of  earthy  mould, 
As  much  of  heaven  as  heart  can  hold, 
Nor  through  eternity  grows  cold : 
This  was  that  Mother's  Love. 


THE  VISIBLE  CREATION. 

THE  GOD  of  Nature  and  of  Grace 

In  all  his  works  appears ; 
His  goodness  through  the  earth  we  trace, 

His  grandeur  in  the  spheres. 

Behold  this  fair  and  fertile  globe, 

By  Him  in  wisdom  plann'd ; 
'Twas  He  who  girded,  like  a  robe, 

The  ocean  round  the  land. 

Lift  to  the  firmament  your  eye, 

Thither  his  path  pursue  ; 
His  glory,  boundless  as  the  sky, 

O'erwhelms  the  wondering  view. 

He  bows  the  heavens — the  mountains  stand 

A  highway  for  their  God  ; 
He  walks  amidst  the  desert  land, 

— 'Tis  Eden  where  He  trod. 

The  forests  in  His  strength  rejoice ; 

Hark  !  on  the  evening  breeze, 
As  once  of  old,  the  LORD  GOD'S  voice 

Is  heard  among  the  trees. 

Here  on  the  hills  He  feeds  his  herds, 

His  flocks  on  yonder  plains  : 
His  praise  is  warbled  by  the  birds ; 

— Oh  !  could  we  catch  their  strains  ! 

— Mount  with  the  lark,  and  bear  our  song 
Up  to  the  gates  of  light, 


REMINISCENCES. 


Or  with  the  nightingale  prolong 
Our  numbers  through  the  night » 

In  every  stream  his  bounty  flows, 

Diffusing  joy  and  wealth  ; 
In  every  breeze  his  spirit  blow?, 

— The  breath  of  life  and  health. 

His  blessings  fall  in  plenteous  showers 

Upon  the  lap  of  earth, 
That  teems  with  foliage,  fruit,  and  flowers, 

And  rings  with  infant  rnirth. 

If  God  hath  made  this  world  so  fair, 
Where  sin  and  death  abound, 

How  beautiful  beyond  compare 
Will  Paradise  be  found  ! 


REMINISCENCES. 

WHERE  are  ye  with  whom  in  life  I  started, 
Dear  companions  of  my  golden  days  1 

Ye  are  dead,  estranged  from  me,  or  parted, 

— Flown,  like  morning  clouds,  a  thousand  ways. 

Where  art  thou,  in  youth  my  friend  and  brother. 
Yea,  in  soul  my  friend  and  brother  still  1 

Heaven  received  thee,  and  on  earth  none  other 
Can  the  void  in  my  lorn  bosom  fill. 

Where  is  she,  whose  looks  were  love  and  gladness  T 
— Lo/e  and  gladness  I  no  longer  sc»- ! 

She  is  gone  ;  and,  since  that  hour  of  sadness, 
Nature  seems  her  sepulchre  to  me. 

Where  am  1 1 — life's  current  faintly  flowing, 
Brings  the  welcome  warning  of  release  ; 

Struck  with  death,  ah  !  whither  am  I  going? 
All  is  well. — my  spirit  parts  in  peace. 


J04  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


THE  REIGN  OF  SPRING. 

WHO  loves  not  Spring's  voluptuous  hours, 

The  carnival  of  birds  and  flowers  ? 

Yet  who  would  choose,  however  dear, 

That  Spring  should  revel  all  the  year? 

— Who  loves  not  Summer's  splendid  reign, 

The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  main  ? 

Yet  who  would  choose,  however  bright, 

A  Dog-day  noon  without  a  night  ? 

— Who  loves  not  Autumn's  joyous  round, 

When  corn,  and  wine,  and  oil  abound? 

Yet  Who  would  choose,  however  gay, 

A  year  of  unrenew'd  decay  ? 

— Who  loves  not  Winter's  awful  form  ? 

The  sphere-born  music  of  the  storm  ? 

Yet  who  would  choose,  how  grand  soever, 

The  shortest  day  to  last  for  ever? 

'Twas  in  that  age  renown'd,  remote, 
When  all  was  true  that  Esop  wrote ; 
And  in  that  land  of  fair  Ideal, 
Where  all  that  poets  dream  is  real ; 
Upon  a  day  of  annual  state, 
The  Seasons  met  in  high  debate. 
There  blush'd  young  Spring  in  maiden  pride, 
Blithe  Summer  look'd  a  gorgeous  bride, 
Staid  Autumn  moved  with  matron-grace, 
And  beldame  Winter  pursed  her  face. 
Dispute  grew  wild  ;  all  talk'd  together  ; 
The  four  at  once  made  wondrous  weather ; 
Nor  one  (whate'er  the  rest  had  shown) 
Heard  any  reason  but  her  own  ; 
While  each  (for  nothing  else  was  clear) 
Claim'd  the  whole  circle  of  the  year. 

Spring,  in  possession  of  the  field, 
Compell'd  her  sisters  soon  to  yield : 


THE    REIGN    OF    SPRING.  309 

They  part, — resolved  elsewhere  to  try 
A  twelvemonth's  empire  of  the  sky; 
And,  calling  off"  their  airy  legions, 
Alighted  in  adjacent  regions. 
Spring  o'er  the  eastern  campaign  smiled, 
Fell  Winter  ruled  the  northern  wild, 
Summer  pursued  the  sun's  red  car, 
But  Autumn  loved  the  twilight  star. 

As  Spring  parades  her  new  domain, 
Love,  Beauty,  Pleasure,  hold  her  train ; 
Her  footsteps  wake  the  flowers  beneath, 
That  start,  and  blush,  and  sweetly  breathe ; 
Her  gales  on  nimble  pinions  rove, 
And  shake  to  foliage  every  grove ; 
Her  voice,  in  dell  and  thicket  heard, 
Cheers  on  the  nest  the  mother-bird ; 
The  ice-lock'd  streams,  as  if  they  felt 
Her  touch,  to  liquid  diamond  melt ; 
The  lambs  around  her  bleat  and  play  ; 
The  serpent  flings  his  slough  away, 
And  shines  in  orient  colours  dight, 
A  flexile  ray  of  living  light. 
Nature  unbinds  her  wintry  shroud, 
(As  the  soft  sunshine  melts  the  cloud,) 
With  infant  gambols  sports  along, 
Bounds  into  youth,  and  soars  in  song. 
The  morn  impearls  her  locks  with  dew, 
Noon  spreads  a  sky  of  boundless  blue, 
The  rainbow  spans  the  evening  scene, 
The  night  is  silent  and  serene, 
Save  when  her  lonely  minstrel  wrings 
The  heart  with  sweetness  while  he  sings. 
— Who  would  not  wish,  unrivall'd  here, 
That  Spring  might  frolic  all  the  year  T 

Three  months  are  fled,  and  still  she  reigns, 
Exulting  queen  o'er  hills  and  plains ; 
The  birds  renew  their  nuptial  vow, 
Nestlings  themselves  are  lovers  now  ; 

26» 


806  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Fresh  broods  each  bending  bough  receives, 

Till  feathers  far  outnumber  leaves ; 

But  kites  in  circles  swim  the  air, 

And  sadden  music  to  despair. 

The  stagnant  pools,  the  quaking  bogs, 

Teem,  croak,  and  crawl  with  hordes  of  frogs ; 

The  matted  woods,  th'  infected  earth, 

Are  venomous  with  reptile-birth  ; 

Armies  of  locusts  cloud  the  skies  ; 

With  beetles  hornets,  gnats  with  flies, 

Interminable  warfare  wage, 

And  madden  heaven  with  insect-rage. 

The  flowers  are  wither'd  ; — sun  nor  dew 
Their  fallen  glories  shall  renew ; 
The  flowers  are  wither'd ; — germ  nor  seed 
Ripen  in  garden,  wild,  or  mead  : 
The  corn-fields  shoot : — their  blades,  alas ! 
Run  riot  in  luxuriant  grass. 
The  tainted  flocks,  the  drooping  kine, 
In  famine  of  abundance  pine, 
Where  vegetation,  sour,  unsound, 
And  loathsome,  rots  and  rankles  round ; 
Nature  with  nature  seems  at  strife : 
Nothing  can  live  but  monstrous  life 
By  death  engender'd ; — food  and  breath 
Are  turn'd  to  elements  of  death  ; 
And  where  the  soil  his  victims  strew, 
Corruption  quickens  them  anew. 

But  ere  the  year  was  half  expired, 
Spring  saw  her  folly,  and  retired  ; 
Yoked  her  light  chariot  to  a  breeze, 
And  mounted  to  the  Pleiades  ; 
Content  with  them  to  rest  or  play 
Along  the  calm  nocturnal  way  ; 
Till,  heaven's  remaining  circuit  run, 
They  meet  the  pale  hybernal  sun, 
And,  gaily  mingling  in  his  blaze, 
Hail  the  true  dawn  of  vernal  days 


THE    REIGN    OF    SUMMER.  307 


THE  REIGN  OF  SUMMER. 

THE  hurricanes  are  fled  ;  the  rains, 

That  plough 'd  the  mountains,  wreck'd  the  plains, 

Have  pass'd  away  before  the  wind, 

And  left  a  wilderness  behind, 

As  if  an  ocean  had  been  there 

Exhaled,  and  left  its  channels  bare. 

But,  with  a  new  and  sudden  birth, 

Nature  replenishes  the  earth  ; 

Plants,  flowers,  and  shrubs,  o'er  all  the  land 

So  promptly  rise,  so  thickly  stand, 

As  if  they  heard  a  voice, — and  came, 

Each  at  the  calling  of  its  name. 

The  tree,  by  tempests  stript  and  rent, 

Expands  its  verdure  like  a  tent, 

Beneath  whose  shade,  in  weary  length, 

Th'  enormous  lion  rests  his  strength, 

For  blood,  in  dreams  of  hunting,  burns, 

Or,  chased  himself,  to  flight  returns ; 

Growls  in  his  sleep,  a  dreary  sound, 

Grinds  his  wedged  teeth,  and  spurns  the  ground 

While  monkeys,  in  grotesque  amaze, 

Down  from  their  bending  perches  gaze, 

But  when  he  lifts  his  eye  of  fire, 

Quick  to  the  topmost  boughs  retire. 

Loud  o'er  the  mountains  bleat  the  flocks , 
The  goat  is  bounding  on  the  rocks; 
Far  in  the  valleys  range  the  herds; 
The  welkin  gleams  with  flitting  birds, 
Whose  plumes  such  gorgeous  tints  adorn, 
They  seem  the  offspring  of  the  morn. 
From  nectar'd  flowers  and  groves  of  spice, 
Earth  breathes  the  Air  of  Paradise; 


808  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Her  mines  their  hidden  Avealth  betray, 
Treasures  of  darkness  burst  to  day ; 
O'er  golden  sands  the  rivers  glide, 
And  pearls  and  amber  track  the  tide. 
Of  every  sensual  bliss  possess'd, 
Man  riots  here  ; — but  is  he  bless'd  ? 
And  would  he  choose,  for  ever  bright, 
This  Summer-day  without  a  night  ? 
For  here  hath  Summer  fix'd  her  throne, 
Intent  to  reign, — and  reign  alone. 

Daily  the  sun,  in  his  career, 
Hotter  and  higher,  climbs  the  sphere, 
Till  from  the  zenith,  in  his  rays, 
Without  a  cloud  or  shadow,  blaze 
The  realms  beneath  him : — in  his  march, 
On  the  blue  key-stone  of  heaven's  arch, 
He  stands  ; — air,  earth,  and  ocean  lie 
Within  the  presence  of  his  eye. 
The  wheel  of  Nature  seems  to  rest, 
Nor  rolls  him  onward  to  the  west, 
Till  thrice  three  days  of  noon  unchanged. 
That  torrid  clime  have  so  deranged. 
Nine  years  may  not  the  wrong  repair ; 
But  Summer  checks  the  ravage  there ; 
5fet  still  enjoins  the  sun  to  steer 
By  the  stern  Dog-star  round  the  year, 
With  dire  extremes  of  day  and  night, 
Tartarean  gloom,  celestial  light. 

In  vain  the  gaudy  season  shines, 
Her  beauty  fades,  her  power  declines ; 
Then  first  her  bosom  felt  a  care  ; 
—No  healing  breeze  embalm'd  the  ail, 
Mo  mist  the  mountain-tops  bedew'd, 
Nor  shower  the  arid  vale  renewed  ; 
.    The  herbage  shrunk;  the  ploughman's  toil 
Scatter'd  to  dust  the  crumbling  soil ; 
Blossoms  were  shed  ;  th'  umbrageous  wood, 
Laden  with  sapless  foliage,  stood : 


THE    REIGN    OF    SUMMER. 


The  streams,  impoverished  day  by  day, 

Lessen'd  insensibly  away ; 

Where  cattle  sought,  with  piteous  moans, 

The  vanish'd  lymph,  midst  burning  stones, 

And  tufts  of  wither'd  reeds,  that  fill 

The  wonted  channel  of  the  rill ; 

Till,  stung  with  hornets,  mad  with  thirst, 

In  sudden  rout,  away  they  burst, 

Nor  rest,  till  where  some  channel  deep, 

Gleams  in  small  pools,  whose  waters  sleep , 

There  with  huge  draught  and  eager  eye 

Drink  for  existence, — drink  and  die ! 

But  direr  evils  soon  arose, 

Hopeless,  unmitigable  woes; 

Man  proves  the  shock ;  through  all  his  veins 

The  frenzy  of  the  season  reigns ; 

With  pride,  lust,  rage,  ambition  blind, 

He  burns  in  every  fire  of  mind, 

Which  kindles  from  insane  desire, 

Or  fellest  hatred  can  inspire  ; 

Reckless  whatever  ill  befall, 

He  dares  to  do  and  suffer  all 

That  heart  can  think,  that  arm  can  deal, 

Or  out  of  hell  a  fury  feel. 

There  stood  in  that  romantic  clime 
A  mountain  awfully  sublime  ; 
O'er  many  a  league  the  basement  spread, 
It  towcr'd  in  many  an  airy  head, 
Height  over  height, — now  gay,  now  wild. 
The  peak  with  ice  eternal  piled  ; 
Pure  in  mid-heaven,  that  crystal  cone 
A  diadem  of  gloty  shone. 
Reflecting,  in  the  night-fall'n  sky, 
The  beams  of  day's  departed  eye ; 
Or  holding,  ere  the  dawn  begun, 
Communion  with  th'  unrisen  sun. 
The  cultured  sides  were  clothed  with  woods. 
Vineyards,  and  fields ;  or  track'd  with  floods* 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Whose  glacier  fountains,  hid  on  high, 
Sent  down  their  rivers  from  the  sky. 
O'er  plains,  that  mark'd  its  gradual  scale, 
On  sunny  slope,  in  shelter'd  vale 
Earth's  universal  tenant,  —  He, 
Who  lives  wherever  life  may  be, 
Sole,  social,  fix'd,  or  free  to  roam, 
Always  and  everywhere  at  home, 
MAN  pitch'd  his  tents,  adorn'd  his  bowers, 
Built  temples,  palaces,  and  towers, 
And  made  that  Alpine  world  his  own, 
—The  miniature  of  every  zone, 
From  brown  savannas  parch'd  below, 
To  ridges  of  cerulean  snow. 

Those  high-lands  form'd  a  last  retreat 
From  rabid  Summer's  fatal  heat  : 
Though  not  unfelt  her  fervours  there, 
Vernal  and  cool  the  middle  air  ; 
While  from  the  icy  pyramid 
Streams  of  unfailing  freshness  slid, 
That  long  had  slaked  the  thirsty  land, 
Till  avarice,  with  insatiate  hand, 
Their  currents  check'd  ;  in  sunless  caves, 
And  rock-bound  dells,  engulf'd  the  waves, 
And  thence  in  scanty  measures  doled, 
Or  turn'd  heaven's  bounty  into  gold. 
Ere  long  the  dwellers  on  the  plain 
Murmur'd  ;  —  their  murmurs  were  in  vain  ; 
Petition'd,  —  but  their  prayers  were  spurn'd  ; 
Threaten'd,—  defiance  was  return'd  ; 
Then  rang  both  regions  with  alarms  ; 
Blood-kindling  trumpets  blew  to  arms  ; 
The  maddening  drum  and  deafening  fife 
Marshall'd  the  elements  of  strife  : 
Sternly  the  mountaineers  maintain 
Their  rights  against  th'  insurgent  plain  ; 
The  plain's  indignant  myriads  rose 
To  wrest  the  mountain  from  their  foes 


THE    REIGN    OF    SUMMER. 


Resolved  its  blessings  to  enjoy 
By  dint  of  valour, — or  destroy. 

The  legions  met  in  war-array ; 
The  mountaineers  brook 'd  no  delay  ; 
Aside  their  missile  weapons  threw, 
From  holds  impregnable  withdrew, 
And,  rashly  brave,  with  sword  and  shield, 
Rush'd  headlong  to  the  open  field. 
Their  foes  {h*  auspicious  omen  took, 
And  raised  a  battle-shout  that  shook 
The  campaign  ;— stanch  and  keen  for  blood, 
Front  threatening  front,  the  columns  stood ; 
But,  while  like  thunder-clouds  they  frown. 
In  tropic  haste  the  sun  went  down ; 
Night  o'er  both  armies  stretch'd  her  tent. 
The  star-bespangled  firmament, 
Whose  placid  host,  revolving  slow, 
Smile  on  th'  impatient  hordes  below, 
That  chafe  and  fret  the  hours  away, 
Curse  the  dull  gloom,  and  long  for  day, 
Though  destined  by  their  own  decree 
No  other  day  nor  night  to  see. 
— That  night  is  past,  that  day  begun  ; 
Swift  as  he  sunk  ascends  the  sun, 
And  from  the  red  horizon  springs 
Upward,  as  borne  on  eagle-wings : 
Aslant  each  army's  lengthen'd  lines, 
O'er  shields  and  helms  he  proudly  shines 
While  spears,  that  catch  his  lightnings  keen, 
Flash  them  athwart  the  space  between. 
Before  the  battle-shock,  when  breath 
And  pulse  are  still,-:-awaiting  death ; 
In  that  cold  pause,  which  seems  to  be 
The  prelude  to  eternity, 
When  fear,  ere  yet  a  blow  is  dealt, 
Betray'd  by  none,  by  all  is  fell ; 
While,  moved  beneath  their  feet,  the  tomb 
Widens  her  lap  to  make  them  room ; 


Ill  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


— Till,  in  the  onset  of  the  fray, 
Fear,  feeling,  thought  are  cast  away, 
And  foaming,  raging,  mingling  foes, 
Like  billows  dash'd  in  conflict,  close, 
Charge,  strike,  repel,  wound,  struggle,  fly, 
Gloriously  win,  unconquer'd  die  : — 
Here,  in  dread  silence,  while  they  stand, 
Each  with  a  death-stroke  in  his  hand, 
His  eye  fix'd  forward,  and  his  ear 
Tingling  the  signal  blast  to  hear ; 
The  trumpet  sounds ; — one'  note, — no  more ; 
The  field,  the  fight,  the  Avar  is  o'er ; 
An  earthquake  rent  the  void  betAveen ; 
A  moment  show'd,  and  shut  the  scene  ; 
'        Men,  chariots,  steeds, — of  either  host, 

The  flower,  the  pride,  the  strength  were  lost : 
A  solitude  remains  ; — the  dead 
Are  buried  there, — the  living  fled. 

Nor  yet  the  reign  of  Summer  closed  ; 
— At  night  in  their  own  homes  reposed 
The  fugitives,  on  either  side, 
Who  'scaped  the  death  their  comrades  died ; 
When,  lo !  with  many  a  giddy  shock 
The  mountain-cliffs  began  to  rock, 
And  deep  below  the  hollow  ground 
Ran  a  strange  mystery  of  sound, 
As  if,  in  chains  and  torments  there, 
Spirits  were  venting  their  despair. 
That  sound,  those  shocks,  the  sleepers  woke ; 
In  trembling  consternation,  broke 
Forth  from  their  dwellings,  young  and  old ; 
—Nothing  abroad  their  eyes  behold 
But  darkness  so  intensely  wrought, 
'Twas  blindness  in  themselves  they  thought. 
Anon,  aloof,  with  sudden  rays, 
Issued  so  fierce,  so  broad  a  blaze, 
That  darkness  started  into  light, 
And  evt  ry  eye,  restored  to  sight, 


THE    REIGN    OF    SUMMER.  313 


Grazed  on  the  glittering  crest  of  snows, 
Whence  the  bright  conflagration  rose, 
Whose  flames  condensed  at  once  aspire, 
— A  pillar  of  celestial  fire, 
Alone  amidst  infernal  shade, 
In  glorious  majesty  display'd  : 
Beneath,  from  rifted  caverns,  broke 
Volumes  of  suffocating  smoke, 
That  roll'd  in  surges,  like  a  flood, 
By  the  red  radiance  turn'd  to  blood ; 
Morn  look'd  aghast  upon  the  scene, 
Nor  could  a  sunbeam  pierce  between 
The  panoply  of  vapours,  spread  . 
Above,  around  the  mountain's  head. 

In  distant  fields,  with  drought  consumed, 
Joy  swell'd  all  hearts,  all  eyes  illumed, 
When  from  that  peak,  through  lowering  skies, 
Thick  curling  clouds  were  seen  to  rise, 
And  hang  o'er  all  the  darken'd  plain, 
The  presage  of  descending  rain. 
Th'  exulting  cattle  bound  along, 
The  tuneless  birds  attempt  a  song, 
The  swain,  amidst  his  sterile  lands, 
With  outstretch'd  arms  of  rapture  stands. 
But,  fraught  with  plague  and  curses,  came 
Th'  insidious  progeny  of  flame  ; 
Ah  !  then, — for  fertilizing  showers, 
The  pledge  of  herbage,  fruits,  and  flowers,— 
Words  cannot  paint,  how  every  eye 
(Blood-shot  and  dim  with  agony) 
Was  glazed,  as  by  a  palsying  spell, 
When  light  sulphureous  ashes  fell, 
Dazzling,  and  eddying  to  and  fro, 
Like  wildering  sleet  or  feathery  snow : 
Strewn  with  gray  pumice  Nature  lies, 
At  every  motion  quick  to  rise, 
Tainting  with  livid  fumes  the  air; 
—Then  hope  lies  down  in  prone  despair, 

87 


3M  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


And  man  and  beast,  with  misery  dumb, 
Sullenly  brood  on  woes  to  come. 

The  mountain  now,  like  living  earth, 
Pregnant  with  some  stupendous  birth, 
Heaved,  in  the  anguish  of  its  throes, 
Sheer  from  it«  crest  th'  incumbent  snows; 
And  where  of  old  they  chilPd  the  sky, 
Beneath  the  sun's  meridian  eye, 
Or,  purpling  in  the  golden  west, 
Appear'd  his  evening  throne  of  rest, 
There,  black  and  bottomless  and  wide, 
A  cauldron,  rent  from  side  to  side, 
Simmer'd  and  hiss'd  with  huge  turmoil 
Earth's  disembowell'd  minerals  boil, 
And  thence  in  molten  torrents  rush ; 
— Water  and  fire,  like  sisters,  gush 
From  the  same  source  ;  the  double  stream 
Meets,  battles,  and  explodes  in  steam ; 
Then  fire  prevails ;  and  broad  and  deep 
Red  lava  roars  from  steep  to  steep  ; 
While  rocks  unseated,  woods  upriven, 
Are  headlong  down  the  current  driven; 
Columnar  flames  are  wrapt  aloof, 
In  whirlwind  forms,  to  heaven's  high  roof, 
And  there,  amidst  transcendent  gloom, 
Image  the  wrath  beyond  the  tomb. 

The  mountaineers,  in  wild  affright, 
Too  late  for  safety,  urge  their  flight; 
Women,  made  childless  in  the  fray, 
Women,  made  mothers  yesterday, 
The  sick,  the  aged,  and  the  blinij ; 
— None  but  the  dead  are  left  behind. 
Painful  their  journey,  toilsome,  slow, 
Beneath  their  feet  quick  embers  glow, 
And  hurtle  round  in  dreadful  hail ; 
Their  limbs,  their  hearts,  their  senses  fait 
While  many  a  victim,  by  the  way, 
Buried  alive  in  ashes  lay, 


THE    REIGN    OF   SUMMER.  SIS 

Or  perish'd  by  the  lightning's  stroke, 

Before  the  slower  thunder  broke. 

A  few  the  open  field  explore  : 

The  throng  seek  refuge  on  the  shore, 

Between  two  burning  rivers  hemm'd, 

Whose  rage  nor  mounds  nor  hollows  stemm'd; 

Driven  like  a  herd  of  deer,  they  reach 

The  lonely,  dark,  and  silent  beach, 

Where,  calm  as  innocence  in  sleep, 

Expanded  lies  th'  unconscious  deep. 

Awhile  the  fugitives  respire, 

And  watch  those  cataracts  of  fire 

(That  bar  escape  on  either  hand) 

Rush  on  the  ocean  from  the  strand ; 

Back  from  the  onset  rolls  the  tide, 

But  instant  clouds  the  conflict  hide  ; 

The  lavas  plunge  to  gulfs  unknown, 

And,  as  they  plunge,  collapse  to  stone. 

Meanwhile  the  mad  volcano  grew 
Tenfold  more  terrible  to  view  ; 
And  thunders,  such  as  shall  be  hurl'd 
At  the  death-sentence  of  the  world ; 
And  lightnings,  such  as  shall  consume 
Creation,  and  creation's  tomb, 
Nor  leave,  amidst  th'  eternal  void, 
One  trembling  atom  undestroy'd  ; 
Such  thunders  crash'd,  such  lightnings  glared: 
—Another  fate  those  outcasts  shared, 
When,  with  one  desolating  sweep, 
An  earthquake  seem'd  t'  ingulf  the  deep, 
Then  threw  it  back,  and  from  its  bed 
Hung  a  whole  ocean  overhead  ; 
The  victims  shriek'd  beneath  the  wa*e, 
And  in  a  moment  found  one  grave ; 
Down  to  th'  abyss  the  flood  retum'd, — 
Alone,  unseen,  the  mountain  burn'd. 

1813 


316  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


INSTRUCTION. 

FROM  heaven  descends  the  drops  of  dew, 

From  heaven  the  gracious  showers, 
Earth's  winter-aspect  to  renew, 

And  clothe  the  spring  with  flowers ; 
From  heaven  the  beams  of  morning  flow, 

That  melt  the  gloom  of  night ; 
From  heaven  the  evening  breezes  blow, 

Health,  fragrance,  and  delight. 

Like  genial  dew,  like  fertile  showers, 

The  words  of  wisdom  fall, 
Awaken  man's  unconscious  powers, 

Strength  out  of  weakness  call : 
Like  morning  beams  they  strike  the  mind, 

Its  loveliness  reveal; 
And  softer  than  the  evening  wind, 

The  wounded  spirit  heal. 

As  dew  and  rain,  as  light  and  air, 

From  heaven  instruction  came, 
The  waste  of  Nature  to  repair, 

Kindle  a  sacred  flame  ; 
A  flame  to  purify  the  earth, 

Exalt  her  sons  on  high, 
And  train  them  for  their  second  birth, 

— Their  birth  beyond  the  sky. 

ALBION  !  on  every  human  soul, 

By  thee  be  knowledge  shed, 
Far  as  the  ocean-waters  roll, 

Wide  as  the  shores  are  spread: 


A  NIGHT  IN  A  STAGE-COACH. 


Truth  makes  thy  children  free  at  home  ; 

Oh  !  that  thy  flag,  unfurPd, 
Might  shine,  where'er  thy  children  roam, 

Truth's  Banner  round  the  world. 


London,  1812. 


A  NIGHT  IN  A  STAGE-COACH ; 

BEING    A    MEDITATION    ON   THE    WAY    BETWEEN   LONDON 
AND    BRISTOL, 

BKPTEMBER   23,    1815. 

I  TRAVEL  all  the  irksome  night, 

By  ways  to  me  unknown ; 
I  travel,  like  a  bird  in  flight, 

Onward,  and  all  alone. 

In  vain  I  close  my  weary  eyes, 

They  will  not,  cannot  sleep, 
But,  like  the  watchers  of  the  skies, 

Their  twinkling  vigils  keep. 

My  thoughts  are  wandering  wild  and  far; 

From  earth  to  heaven  they  dart ; 
Now  wing  their  flight  from  star  to  star, 

Now  dive  into  my  heart. 

Backward  they  roll  the  tide  of  time, 

And  live  through  vanish'd  years, 
Or  hold  their  "colloqiy  sublime" 

With  future  hopes  and  fears ; 

Then  passing  joys  and  present  woes 
Chase  through  my  troubled  mind, 

Repose  still  seeking, — but  r  '.pose 
Not  for  a  moment  find. 


•18  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

So  yonder  lone  and  lovely  moon 
Gleams  on  the  clouds  gone  by, 

Illumines  those  around  her  noon, 
Yet  westward  points  her  eye. 

Nor  wind  nor  flood  her  course  delay, 
Through  heaven  1  see  her  glide ; 

She  never  pauses  on  her  way, 
She  never  turns  aside. 

With  anxious  heart  and  throbbing  brain, 
Strength,  patience,  spirits  gone, 

Pulses  of  fire  in  every  vein, 
Thus,  thus  I  journey  on. 

But  soft ! — in  Nature's  failing  hour, 
Up  springs  a  breeze, — I  feel 

Its  balmy  breath,  its  cordial  power, 
A  power  to  soothe  and  heal. 

Lo !  gray,  and  gold,  and  crimson  streaks 

The  gorgeous  east  adorn, 
While  o'er  th'  empurpled  mountain  breaks 

The  glory  of  the  morn. 

Insensibly  the  stars  retire, 

Exhaled  like  drops  of  dew  ; 
Now  through  an  arch  of  living  fire, 

The  sun  comes  forth  to  view. 

The  hills,  the  vales,  the  waters  burp 

With  his  enkindling  rays, 
No  sooner  touch'd  than  they  return 

A  tributary  blaze. 

His  quickening  light  on  me  descends, 
His  cheering  warmth  I  own  ; 

Upward  to  him  my  spirit  tends, 
But  worships  GOD  alone. 

Oh  !  that  on  me,  with  beams  benign, 
His  countenance  would  turn  • 


A    NIGHT    IN    A    STAGE-COACH.  319 

I  too  should  then  arise  and  shine, 
— Arise,  and  shine,  and  burn. 

Slowly  I  raise  my  languid  head, 

Pain  and  soul-sickness  cease; 
The  phantoms  of  dismay  are  fled, 

And  health  returns,  and  peace. 

Where  is  the  beauty  of  the  scene, 

Which  silent  night  display'd  ? 
The  clouds,  the  stars,  the  blue  serene, 

The  moving  light  and  shade  ? 

All  gone  ! — the  moon,  erewhile  so  bright, 

Veil'd  with  a  dusky  shroud, 
Seems,  in  the  sun's  o'erpo\vering  light, 

The  fragment  of  a  cloud. 

At  length,  I  reach  my  journey's  end  : 

Welcome  that  well-known  face  ! 
I  meet  a  brother  and  a  friend  ; 

I  find  a  resting-place. 

Just  such  a  pilgrimage  is  life  ; 

Hurried  from  stage  to  stage, 
Our  wishes  with  our  lot  at  strife, 

Through  childhood  to  old  age. 

The  world  is  seldom  what  it  seems  :— 

To  man,  who  dimly  sees, 
Realities  appear  as  dreams, 


I 


And  dreams  realities. 

The  Christian's  years,  though  slow  their  flight, 

When  ho  is  call'd  away, 
Are  but  the  watches  of  a  night, 

And  Death  the  dawn  of  day. 


MO  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


INCOGNITA : 

ON  VIEWING  THE  PICTURE    OF  AN  UNKNOWN  LADY. 

WKITTEN  AT  LEAMINGTON,  IN  1817. 

"She  was  a  phantom  of  delight."  WORDSWORTH. 

IMAGE  of  One,  who  lived  of  yore ! 

Hail  to  that  lovely  mien, 
Once  quick  and  conscious, — now  no  more 

On  land  or  ocean  seen  ! 
Were  all  earth's  breathing  forms  to  pass 
Before  me  in  Agrippa's  glass,3 
Many  as  fair  as  Thou  might  be, 
But  oh !  not  one, — not  one  like  Thee. 

Thou  art  no  Child  of  Fancy ;— Thou 

The  very  look  dost  wear, 
That  gave  enchantment  to  a  brow, 

Wreathed  with  luxuriant  hair  ; 
Lips  of  the  morn  embathed  in  dew, 
And  eyes  of  evening's  starry  blue ; 
Of  all  who  e'er  enjoyed  the  sun, 
Thou  art  the  image  of  but  One. 

And  who  was  she,  in  virgin  prime, 

And  May  of  womanhood, 
Whose  roses  here,  unpluck'd  by  Time, 

In  shadowy  tints  have  stood ; 
While  many  a  winter's  withering  blast 
Hath  o'er  the  dark  cold  chamber  pass'd, 
In  which  her  once-resplendent  form 
Slumber'd  to  dust  beneath  the  storm  ? 

Of  gentle  blood  ; — upon  her  birth 

Consenting  planets  smiled, 
And  she  had  seen  those  days  of  mirth 

•That  frolic  round  the  child ; 


3  H  C3  rv>  tl  H 


INCOGNITA. 


To  bridal  bloom  her  strength  had  sprung, 
Behold  her  beautiful  and  young ! 
Lives  there  a  record,  which  hath  told 
That  she  was  wedded,  widow'd,  old  ? 

How  long  her  date,  'twere  vain  to  guess . 

The  pencil's  cunning  art 
Can  but  a  single  glance  express, 

One  motion  of  the  heart ; 
A  smile,  a  blush, — a  transient  grace 
Of  air,  and  attitude,  and  face  ; 
One  passion's  changing  colour  mix, 
One  moment's  flight  for  ages  fix. 

Her  joys  and  griefs  alike  in  vain 

Would  fancy  here  recall ; 
Her  throbs  of  ecstasy  or  pain 

LulPd  in  oblivion  all ; 
With  her,  methinks,  life's  little  hour 
Pass'd  like  the  fragrance  of  a  flower, 
That  leaves  upon  the  vernal  wind 

Sweetness  we  ne'er  again  may  find. 

i 
Where  dwelt  she  ? — Ask  yon  aged  tree 

Whose  boughs  embower  the  lawn, 
Whether  the  birds'  wild  minstrelsy 

Awoke  her  here  at  dawn  ?  » 

Whether  beneath  its  youthful  shade, 
At  noon,  in  infancy  she  played  ? 
— If  from  the  oak  no  answer  come, 
Of  her  all  oracles  are  dumb. 

The  Dead  are  like  the  stars  by  day ; 

— Withdrawn  from  mortal  eye, 
But  not  extinct,  they  hold  their  way 

In  glory  through  the  sky : 
Spirits,  from  bondage  thus  set  free, 
Vanish  amidst  immensity, 
Where  human  thought,  like  human  sight, 
Fails  to  pursue  their  trackless  flight. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Somewhere  within  created  space, 

Could  I  explore  that  round, 
In  bliss,  or  wo,  there  is  a  place 

Where  she  might  still  be  found; 
And  oh  !  unless  those  eyes  deceive, 
I  may,  I  must,  I  will  believe, 
That  she,  whose  charms  so  meekly  glow, 
/*  what  she  only  seem'd  below  ; — 

An  angel  in  that  glorious  realm 

Where  GOD  himself  is  King : 
— But  awe  and  fear,  that  overwhelm. 

Presumption,  check  my  wing ; 
Nor  dare  imagination  look 
Upon  the  symbols  of  that  book, 
Wherein  eternity  enrols 
The  judgments  on  departed  souls. 

Of  Her  of  whom  these  pictured  lines 

A  faint  resemblance  form  ; 
— Fair  as  the  second  rainbow  shines 

Aloof  amid  the  storm ; 
Of  Her,  this  "  shadow  oT  a  shade," 
Like  its  original,  must  fade, 
And  She,  forgotten  when  unseen, 
Shall  be  as  if  she  ne'er  had  been. 

Ah  !  then,  perchance,  this  dreaming  strain, 

Of  all  that  e'er  I  sung, 
A  lorn  memorial  may  remain, 

When  silent  lies  my  tongue  ; 
When  shot  the  meteor  of  my  fame, 
Lost  the  vain  echo  of  my  name, 
This  leaf,  this  fallen  leaf,  may  be 
The  only  trace  of  her  and  me. 

With  One  who  lived  of  old,  my  song 

In  lowly  cadence  rose  ; 
To  One  who  is  unborn,  belong 

The  accents  of  its  close  : 


WINTER-LIGHTNING. 


Ages  to  come,  with  courteous  ear, 
Some  youth  my  warning  voice  may  hear ; 
And  voices  from  the  dead  should  be 
The  warnings  of  eternity. 

When  these  weak  lines  thy  presence  greet 

Reader  !  if  I  am  bless'd, 
Again,  as  spirits,  may  we  meet 

In  glory  and  in  rest ! 
If  not, — and  /  have  lost  my  way, 
Here  part  we, — go  not  Thou  astray : 
No  tomb,  no  verse  my  story  tell ; 
Once,  and  for  ever,  Fare  Thee  well ! 


WINTER-LIGHTNING. 

THE  flash  at  midnight! — 'twas  a  light 
That  gave  the  blind  a  moment's  sight, 

Then  sunk  in  tenfold  gloom  ; 
Loud,  deep,  and  long  the  thunder  brckt 
The  deaf  ear  instantly  awoke, 

Then  closed  as  in  the  tomb : 
An  angel  might  have  pass'd  my  bed, 
Sounded  the  trump  of  GOD,  and  fled. 

So  life  appears ; — a  sudden  birth, 
A  glance  revealing  heaven  and  earth, 

It  is  and  it  is  not ! 
So  fame  the  poet's  hope  deceives, 
Who  sings  for  after-times,  and  leave* 

A  name  to  be  forgot : 
Life  is  a  lightning-flash  of  breath, 
Fame  but  a  thunder-clap  at  death. 

1814. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE  LITTLE  CLOUD. 

Seen  in  a  country  excursion  among  the  woods  and  rocks  of  Wharnc'iffe  and  the 
adjacent  park  and  pleasure  grounds  of  Wortley  Hall,  the  seat  of  the  Riglrt 
Honourable  Lord  Wharncliffe,  near  .Sheffield,  on  the  30th  day  of  June,  1818 

THE  summer  sun  was  in  the  west, 
Yet  far  above  his  evening  rest ; 
A  thousand  clouds  in  air  displayed 
Their  floating  isles  of  light  and  shade, 
The  sky,  like  ocean's  channels,  seen 
In  long  meandering  streaks  between. 

Cultured  and  waste,  the  landscape  lay, 
Woods,  mountains,  valleys  stretch'd  away, 
And  throng'd  th'  immense  horizon  round, 
With  heaven's  eternal  girdle  bound  ; 
From  inland  towns,  eclipsed  with  smoke, 
Steeples  in  lonely  grandeur  broke  ; 
Hamlets,  and  cottages,  and  streams, 
By  glimpses  caught  the  casual  gleams, 
Or  blazed  in  lustre  broad  and  strong, 
Beyond  the  picturing  powers  of  song : 
O'er  all  the  eye  enchanted  ranged, 
While  colours,  forms,  proportions  changed. 
Or  sunk  in  distance  undefined, 
Still  as  our  devious  course  inclined, 
— And  oft  we  paused,  and  look'd  behind 

One  little  cloud,  and  only  one, 
Seem'd  the  pure  offspring  of  the  sun, 
Flung  from  his  orb  to  show  us  here 
What  clouds  adorn  his  hemisphere ; 
Unmoved,  unchanging,  in  the  gale, 
That  bore  the  rest  o'er  hill  and  dale, 
Whose  shadowy  shapes,  with  lights  around, 
Like  living  motions,  swept  the  ground, 


THE    LITTLE    CLOUD.  M5 


This  little  cloud,  and  this  alone, 

Long  in  the  highest  ether  shone  ; 

Gay  as  a  warrior's  banner  spread, 

Its  sunward  margin  ruby-red, 

Green,  purple,  gold,  and  every  hue 

That  glitters  in  the  morning  dew, 

Or  glows  along  the  rainbow's  form, 

— The  apparition  of  the  storm. 

Deep  in  its  bosom,  diamond-bright, 

Behind  a  fleece  of  pearly  white, 

It  seem'd  a  secret  glory  dwelt, 

Whose  presence,  while  unseen,  was  felt ; 

Like  Beauty's  eye,  in  slumber  hid 

Beneath  a  half-transparent  lid, 

From  whence  a  sound,  a  touch,  a  breath, 

Might  startle  it, — as  life  from  death. 

Looks,  words,  emotions  of  surprise, 
Welcomed  the  stranger  to  our  eyes  : 
Was  it  the  phoenix,  that  from  earth 
In  flames  of  incense  sprang  to  birth  ? 
Had  ocean  from  his  lap  let  fly 
His  loveliest  halcyon  through  the  sky? 
No : — while  we  gazed,  the  pageant  grew 
A  nobler  object  to  our  view ; 
We  deem'd,  if  heaven  with  earth  would  hold 
Communion,  as  in  days  of  old, 
Such,  on  his  journey  down  the  sphere, 
Benignant  RAPHAEL  might  appear, 
In  splendid  mystery  conceal'd, 
Yet  by  his  rich  disguise  reveaPd  : 
— That  buoyant  vapour,  in  mid-air, 
An  angel  in  its  folds  might  bear, 
Who,  through  the  curtain  of  his  shrine, 
Betray 'd  his  lineaments  divine. 
The  wild,  the  warm  illusion  stole, 
Like  inspiration,  o'er  the  soul, 
Till  thought  was  rapture,  language  hung 
Silent  but  trembling  on  the  tonguo  ; 

28 


»6  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


And  fancy  almost  hoped  to  hail 
The  seraph  rushing  through  his  veil, 
Or  hear  an  awful  voice  proclaim 
The  embassy  on  Avhi<  h  he  came. 

But  ah  !  no  minister  of  grace 
Show'd  from  the  firmament  his  face, 
Nor,  borne  aloof  on  balanced  wings, 
Reveal'd  unutterable  things. 
The  sun  went  clown  : — the  vision  pass'd ; 
The  cloud  was  but  a  cloud  at  last ; 
Yet,  when  its  brilliancy  decay'd, 
The  eye  still  linger'd  on  the  shade, 
And  watching,  till  no  longer  seen, 
Loved  it  for  what  it  once  had  been. 

That  cloud  was  beautiful, — was  one 
Among  a  thousand  round  the  sun  ; 
The  thousand  shared  the  common  lot ; 
They  came, — they  went, — they  were  forgot ; 
This  fairy-form  alone  impress'd 
Its  perfect  image  in  my  breast, 
And  shines  as  richly  blazon'd  there 
As  in  its  element  of  air. 

The  day  on  which  that  cloud  appear'd, 
Exhilarating  scenes  endear'd : 
— The  sunshine  on  the  hills,  the  floods ; 
The  breeze,  the  twilight  of  the  woods  ; 
Nature  in  every  change  of  green, 
Heaven  in  unnumber'd  aspects  seen; 
Health,  spirits,  exercise,  release 
From  noise  and  smoke ;  twelve  hours  of  peace ; 
No  fears  to  haunt,  no  cares  to  vex  ; 
Friends,  young  and  old,  of  either  sex  ; 
Converse  familiar,  sportive,  kind, 
Where  heart  meets  heart,  mind  quickens  mind, 
And  words  and  thoughts  are  all  at  play, 
Like  children  on  a  holiday  ; 
— Till  themes  celestial  rapt  the  soul 
In  adoration  o'er  the  pole, 


THE    LITTLE    CLOUD. 

Where  stars  are  darkness  in  His  sight, 

Who  reigns  invisible  in  light, 

High  above  all  created  things, 

The  Lord  of  lords,  the  King  of  kings  ! 

Faith,  which  could  thus  on  wing  sublime 

Outsoar  the  bounded  flight  of  time  ; 

Hope  full  of  immortality, 

And  GOD  in  all  the  eye  could  see ; 

— These,  these  endear'd  that  day  to  me, 

And  made  it,  in  a  thousand  ways, 

A  day  among  a  thousand  days, 

That  share  with  clouds  the  common  lot ; 

They  come, — they  go, — they  are  forgot : 

This,  like -that  plaything  of  the  sun, 

— The  little,  lonely,  lovely  one, 

This  lives  within  me  ;  this  shall  be 

A  part  of  my  eternity. 

Amidst  the  cares,  the  toils,  the  strife, 
The  weariness  and  waste  of  life, 
That  day  shall  memory  oft  restore, 
And  in  a  moment  live  it  o'er, 
When,  with  a  lightning-flash  of  thought, 
Morn,  noon,  and  eve  at  once  are  brought 
(As  through  the  vision  of  a  trance) 
All  in  the  compass  of  a  glance. 

Oh !  should  I  reach  a  world  above, 
And  sometimes  think  of  those  I  love, 
Of  things  on  earth  too  dearly  prized, 
(Nor  yet  by  saints  in  heaven  despised,) 
Though  Spirits  made  perfect  may  lament 
Life's  holier  hours  as  half  mis-spent, 
Methinks  I  could  not  turn  away 
The  fond  remembrance  of  that  day, 
The  bright  idea  of  that  cloud, 
(Survivor  of  a  countless  crowd,) 
Without  a  pause,  perhaps  a  sigh, 
To  think  such  loveliness  should  die, 
And  clouds  and  days  of  storm  and  gloom 


838  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Scowl  on  Man's  passage  to  the  tomb. 
— Not  so : — I  feel  I  have  a  heart 
Blessings  to  share,  improve,  impart, 
In  blithe,  severe,  or  pensive  mood, 
At  home,  abroad,  in  solitude, 
Whatever  clouds  are  on  the  wing, 
Whatever  day  the  seasons  bring. 

That  is  true  happiness  below, 
Which  conscience  cannot  turn  to  wo ; 
And  though  such  happiness  depends 
Neither  on  clouds,  nor  days,  nor  friends, 
Wlien  friends,  and  days,  and  clouds  unite, 
And  kindred  chords  are  tuned  aright, 
The  harmonies  of  heaven  and  earth, 
Through  eye,  ear,  intellect,  give  birth 
To  joys  too  exquisite  to  last, 
— And  yet  more  exquisite  when  past ! 
When  the  soul  summons  by  a  spell 
The  ghosts  of  pleasures  round  her  cell, 
In  saintlier' forms  than  erst  they  wore, 
And  smiles  benigner  than  before, 
Each  loved,  lamented  scene  renews, 
With  warmer  touches,  tenderer  hues  ; 
Recalls  kind  words  for  ever  flown, 
But  echoed  in  a  soften'd  tone ; 
Wakes,  with  new  pulses  in  the  breast, 
Feelings  forgotten  or  at  rest ; 
— The  thought  how  fugitive  and  fair, 
How  dear  and  precious  such  things  were  ! 
That  thought,  with  gladness  more  refined, 
Deep  and  transporting,  thrills  the  mind, 
Than  all  those  pleasures  of  an  hour, 
When  most  the  soul  confess' d  their  power. 

Bliss  in  possession  will  not  last ; 
Remember'd  joys  are  never  past ; 
At  once  the  fountain,  stream,  and  sea, 
They  were, — they  are, — thev  yet  shall  be. 


ABDALLAH   AND    SABAT.  >» 


ABDALLAH  AND  SABAT  « 

FROM  West  Arabia  to  Bochara  came 

A  noble  youth,  Abdallah  was  his  name  ; 

Who  journey'd  through  the  various  East  to  find 

New  forms  of  man,  in  feature,  habit,  mind  ; 

Where  Tartar-hordes  through  nature's  pastures  run, 

A  race  of  Centaurs, — horse  and  rider  one  ; 

Where  the  soft  Persian  maid  the  breath  inhales 

Of  love-sick  roses,  woo'd  by  nightingales  ; 

Where  India's  grim  array  of  idols  seem 

Tie  rabble-phantoms  of  a  maniac's  dream  : 

— Himself  the  flowery  path  of  trespass  trod, 

Which  the  false  Prophet  deck'd  to  lure  from  GOD. 

But  He,  who  changed,  into  the  faith  of  Paul, 

The  slaughter-breathing  enmity  of  Saul, 

Vouchsafed  to  meet  Abdallah  by  the  way  : 

No  miracle  of  light  eclipsed  the  day ; 

No  vision  from  the  eternal  world,  nor  sound 

Of  awe  and  wonder  smote  him  to  the  ground ; 

All  mild  and  calm,  with  power  till  then  unknown, 

The  gospel-glory  through  his  darkness  shone ; 

A  still  small  whisper,  only  heard  within, 

Convinced  the  trembling  penitent  of  sin  ; 

And  Jesus,  whom  the  Infidel  abhonr'  1, 

The  Convert  now  invoked,  and  calPd  him  Lord. 

Escaping  from  the  lewd  Impostor's  snare, 

As  flits  a  bird  released  through  boundless  air, 

Aud,  soaring  up  the  pure  blue  ether,  sings, 

— So  rose  his  Spirit  on  exulting  wings. 

But  love,  joy,  peace,  the  Christian's  bliss  below, 

Are  deeply  mingled  in  a  cup  of  wo, 


•  8«e  Buchanan's  "Chrlttinn  Rmenrchi.-r  in  India,"  for  the  mart/idem  of 
Abdallah,  and  ihe  conversion  and  labour*  of  Habat. 

28- 


330  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Which  none  can  pass  : — he,  counting  all  things  loss 
For  his  Redeemer,  gladly  bore  the  cross: 
Soon  call'd,  with  life,  to  lay  that  burden  down, 
In  the  first  fight  he  won  the  Martyr's  crown. 
Abdallah's  friend  was  Sabat ; — one  of  those 
Whom  love  estranged  transforms  to  bitterest  foes : 
From  persecution  to  that  friend  he  fled  ; 
But  Sabat  pour'd  reproaches  on  his  head, 
Spurn'd  like  a  leprous  plague  the  prostrate  youth, 
And  hated  him  as  falsehood  hates  the  truth; 
Yet  first  with  sophistry  and  menace  tried 
To  turn  him  from  "  the  faithful  word"  aside  ; 
All  failing,  old  esteem  to  rancour  turn'd, 
With  Mahomet's  own  reckless  rage  he  burn'd. 
A  thousand  hideous  thoughts  like  fiends,  possess'd 
The  Pandemonium  of  the  Bigot's  breast, 
Whose  fires,  enkindled  from  the  infernal  lake, 
Abdallah's  veins,  unsluiced,  alone  could  slake. 

The  victim,  dragg'd  to  slaughter  by  his  friend. 
Witness'd  a  good  confession  to  the  end. 
Bochara  pour'd  her  people  forth,  to  gaze 
Upon  the  direst  scene  the  world  displays, 
The  blood  of  innocence  by  treason  spilt, 
The  reeking  triumph  of  deep-branded  guilt : 
—Bochara  pour'd  her  people  forth,  to  eye 
The  loveliest  spectacle  beneath  the  sky, 
The  look  with  which  a  Martyr  yields  his  breath, 
—The  resurrection  of  the  soul  in  death. 
'  Renounce  the  Nazarene !"  the  headsman  cries, 
And  flash'd  the  unstain'd  falchion  in  his  eyes: 
"  No  ! — be  his  name  by  heaven  and  earth  adored !' 
He  said,  and  gave  his  right  hand  to  the  sword. 
"  Renounce  Him,  who  forsakes  thee  thus  bereft ;" 
He  wept,  but  spake  not,  and  resign'd  his  left. 
"  Renounce  Him  now,  who  will  not,  cannot  save  :" 
He  kneel'd,  like  Stephen,  look'd  beyond  the  grave, 
And,  while  the  dawn  of  heaven  around  him  broke 
Bow'd  his  meek  head  to  the  dissevering:  stroke: 


ABDALLAH    AND    SABAT.  331 


Out- cast  on  earth  a  mangled  body  lay ; 
A  spirit  enter'd  Paradise  that  day. 

But  where  is  Sabat  ? — Conscience-struck  he  stands, 
With  eye  of  agony,  and  fast-lock'd  hands. 
Abdallah,  in  the  moment  to  depart, 
Had  turn'd,  and  look'd  the  traitor  through  the  heart : 
It  smote  him  like  a  judgment  from  above, 
That  gentle  look  of  wrong'd,  forgiving  love  ! 
Then  hatred  vanished  ;  suddenly  repress'd 
Were  the  strange  flames  of  passion  in  his  breast ; 
Nought  but  the  smouldering  ashes  of  despair, 
Blackness  of  darkness,  death  of  death,  were  there. 
Ere  long,  wild  whirlwinds  of  remorse  arise  ; 
He  flies. — from  all  except  himself  he  flies, 
And  a  low  voice  for  ever  thrilling  near, 
The  voice  of  blood  which  none  but  he  can  hear. 

He  fled  from  guilt ;  but  guilt  and  he  were  one, 
A  Spirit  seeking  rest  and  rinding  none ; 
Visions  of  horror  haunted  him  by  night, 
Yet  darkness  was  less  terrible  than  light ; 
From  dreams  of  wo  when  startled  nature  broke, 
To  woes  that  were  not  dreams  the  wretch  awoke. 
Forlorn  he  ranged  through  India,  till  the  Power, 
That  met  Abdallah  in  a  happier  hour, 
Arrested  Sabat :  through  his  soul  he  felt 
The  word  of  truth  ;  his  heart  began  to  melt, 
And  yielded  slowly,  as  cold  Winter  yields 
When  the  warm  Spring  comes  flushing  o'er  the  fields ; 
Then  first  a  tear  of  gkdness  swell'd  his  eye, 
Then  first  his  bosom  heaved  a  healthful  sigh ; 
That  bosom,  parch'd  as  Afric's  desert  land ; 
That  eye,  a  flint-stone  in  the  burning  sand. 
— Peace,  pardon,  hope,  eternal  joy,  reveal'd, 
Humbled  his  heart :  before  the  cross  he  kneel'd, 
Look'd  up  to  Him  whom  once  he  pierced,  and  bore 
The  name  of  Christ  which  he  blasphemed  before. 
— Was  Sabat  then  subdued  by  love  or  fear  ? 
And  who  shall  vouch  that  he  was  not  sincere  ? 


*»  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Now  with  a  Convert's  zeal  his  ardent  mind 
*     Glow'd  for  the  common  weal  of  all  mankind  ; 
Yet  with  intenser  faith  the  Arabian  pray'd, 
When  homeward  thought  thro'  childhood's  Eden  stray'd. 
— There,  in  the  lap  of  Yemen's  happiest  vale, 
The  shepherds'  tents  are  waving  to  the  gale ; 
The  Patriarch  of  their  tribe,  his  sire,  he  sees 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  ambrosial  trees ; 
His  Sisters,  from  the  fountain  in  the  rock, 
Pour  the  cool  sparkling  water  to  their  flock  ; 
His  Brethren,  rapt  on  steeds  and  camels,  roam 
O'er  wild  and  mountain,  all  the  land  their  home : 
— Thither  he  long'd  to  send  that  book,  unseal'd, 
Whose  words  are  life,  whose  leaves  his  wounds  had  heal'd ; 
That  Ishmael,  living  by  his  sword  and  bow, 
Might  thus  again  the  God  of  Abraham  know ; 
And  Meccan  pilgrims  to  Caaba's  shrine, 
Like  locusts  marching  in  perpetual  line, 
Might  quit  the  broad,  to  choose  the  narrow  path, 
That  leads  to  glory,  and  reclaims  from  wrath. 
Fired  with  the  hope  to  bless  his  native  soil, 
Years  roll'd  unfelt,  in  consecrated  toil, 
To  mould  the  truths  which  holy  writers  teach 
In  the  loved  accents  of  his  mother's  speech ; 
While,  like  the  sun,  that  always  to  the  west 
Leads  the  bright  day,  his  fervent  spirit  press'd, 
Thither  a  purer  light  from  heaven  to  dart, 
—The  only  light  that  reaches  to  the  heart ; 
Whose  deserts  blossom  where  its  beams  are  shed, 
The  blind  behold  them,  and  they  raise  the  dead. 
Nor  by  Arabia  were  his  labours  bound, 
To  Persian  lips  he  taught  "  the  joyful  sound." 
Would  he  had  held  unchanged  that  high  career ! 
— But  Sabat  fell  like  lightning  from  his  sphere : 
Once  with  the  morning  stars  GOD'S  works  he  sung, 
Anon  a  Serpent,  with  envenom'd  tongue, 
Like  that  apostate  fiend  who  tempted  Eve, 
Gifted  with  speech, — he  spake  biu  to  deceive. 


ABDALLAH    AND    SABAT. 


Let  pity  o'er  his  errors  cast  a  veil ! 
Haste  to  the  sequel  of  his  tragic  tale. 
Sabat  became  a  vagabond  on  earth ; 
—He  chose  the  Sinner's  way,  the  Scorner's  mirth  ; 
Now  feign'd  contrition  with  obdurate  tears, 
Then  wore  a  bravery  that  betray'd  his  fears  ; 
With  oaths  and  curses  now  his  Lo"rd  denied, 
And  strangled  guilty  shame  with  desperate  pride ; 
While  inly-rack'd,  he  proved  what  culprits  feel, 
When  conscience  breaks  remembrance  on  the  wheel. 
At  length  an  outlaw  through  the  orient  isles, 
Snared  in  the  subtilty  of  his  own  wiles, 
He  perish'd  in  an  unexpected  hour, 
To  glut  the  vengeance  of  barbarian  power ; 
With  sackcloth  shrouded,  to  a  millstone  bound, 
And  in  th'  abysses  of  the  ocean  drown'd. 
— Oh  !  what  a  plunge  into  the  dark  was  there ! 
How  ended  life  ? — In  blasphemy,  or  prayer? 
The  winds  are  fled  that  heard  his  parting  cry, 
The  waves  that  stifled  it  make  no  reply. 

When,  at  the  resurrection  of  the  Just, 
Earth  shall  yield  back  Abdallah  from  the  dust, 
The  sea,  like  rising  clouds,  give  up  its  dead, 
Then  from  the  deep  shall  Sabal  lift  his  head. 
With  waking  millions  round  the  judgment-seat, 
Once,  and  but  once  again,  those  twain  shall  meet* 
To  part  for  ever, — or  to  part  no  more : 
— But  who  th'  eternal  secret  shall  explore, 
When  Justice  seals  the  gates  of  heaven  and  hell  \ 
The  rest — that  day,  that  day  alone,  will  telL 

mi. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


QUESTIONS  AND  ANSWERS. 

FLOWERS,  wherefore  do  ye  bloom  ? 

— We  strew  thy  pathway  to  the  tomb. 

Stars,  wherefore  do  ye  rise  ? 

— To  light  thy  spirit  to  the  skies. 

Fair  Moon,  why  dost  thou  wane  ? 

— That  I  may  wax  again. 

O  Sun,  what  makes  thy  beams  so  bright  ? 

— The  Word  that  said, — "  Let  there  be  light." 

Planets,  what  guides  you  in  your  course  ? 

— Unseen,  unfelt,  unfailing  force. 

Nature,  whence  sprang  thy  glorious  frame? 

— My  Maker  call'd  me,  and  I  came- 

O  Light,  thy  subtle  essence  who  may  know  ? 

— Ask  not ;  for  all  things  but  myself  I  show. 

What  is  yon  arch  which  everywhere  I  see  1 

— The  sign  of  omnipresent  Deity. 

Where  rests  the  horizon's  all-embracing  zone? 

— Where  earth,  GOD'S  footstool,  touches  heaven,  his  throne. 

Ye  clouds,  what  bring  ye  in  your  train  ?     <v  .^- ' 

— GOD'S  embassies, — storm,  lightning,  hail,  or  rain. 

Winds,  whence  and  whither  do  ye  blow  ? 

• — Thou  must  be  born  again  to  know. 

Bow  in  the  cloud,  what  token  dost  thou  bear  ? 

— That  Justice  still  cries  "  strike,"  and  Mercy  "  spare." 

Dews  of  the  morning,  wherefore  were  ye  given? 

— To  shine  on  earth,  then  rise  to  heaven. 

Rise,  glitter,  break  ;  yet,  Bubble,  tell  me  why  ? 

« — To  show  the  course  of  all  beneath  the  sky. 

Stay,  Meteor,  stay  thy  falling  fire ! 

— No,  thus  shall  all  the  host  of  heaven  expire. 

Ocean,  what  law  thy  chainless  waves  confined  ? 

— That  which  in  Reason's  limits  holds  thy  mind. 


THE    ALPS. 

Time,  whither  dost  thou  flee? 

— I  travel  to  Eternity. 

Eternity,  what  art  thou, — say  ? 

— Time  past,  time  present,  time  to  come, — to-day. 

Ye  Dead,  where  can  your  dwelling  be  ? 

— The  house  for  all  the  living : — come  and  see. 

O  Life,  what  is  thy  breath? 

— A  vapour  lost  in  death. 

O  Death,  how  ends  thy  strife  ? 

— In  everlasting  life. 

O  Grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

— Ask  Him  who  rose  again  for  me. 


THE  ALPS : 

A   REVERIE. 

PART  I.     Day. 

THE  mountains  of  this  glorious  land 

Are  conscious  beings  to  mine  eye, 
When  at  the  break  of  day  they  stand 

fjike  giants,  looking  through  the  sky 
To  hail  the  sun's  unrisen  car, 

That  gilds  their  diadems  of  snow ; 
While  one  by  one,  as  star  by  star, 

Their  peaks  in  ether  glow. 

Their  silent  presence  fills  my  soul, 

When,  to  the  horizontal  ray, 
The  many-tinctured  vapours  roll 

In  evani -"cent  wreaths  away, 
And  leave  them  naked  on  the  scene, 

The  emblems  of  eternity, 
The  same  as  they  have  ever  been, 

And  shall  for  ever  be. 


. 


836  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Yet  through  the  valley  while  I  range. 

Their  cliffs,  like  images  in  dreams, 
Colour,  and  shape,  and  station  change  ; 

Here  crags  and  caverns,  woods  and  streams 
And  seas  of  adamantine  ice, 

With  gardens,  vineyards,  fields  embraced. 
Open  a  way  to  Paradise, 

Through  all  the  splendid  waste. 

The  goats  are  hanging  on  the  rocks,  • 

Wide  through  their  pastures  roam  the  herds ; 
Peace  on  the  uplands  feeds  her  flocks, 

Till  suddenly  the  king  of  birds 
Pouncing  a  lamb,  they  start  for  fear ; 

He  bears  his  bleating  prize  on  high ; 
The  well-known  plaint  his  nestlings  hear, 

And  raise  a  ravening  cry. 

The  sun  in  morning  freshness  shines  ; 

At  noon  behold  his  orb  o'ercast ; 
Hollow  and  dreary  o'er  the  pines, 

Like  distant  ocean,  moans  the  blast ; 
•  The  mountains  darken  at  the  sound, 
»  Put  on  their  armour,  and  anon, 

In  panoply  of  clouds  wrapt  round, 
Their  forms  from  sight  are  gone. 

Hark  !  war  in  heaven  ! — the  battle-shout 
Of  thunder  rends  the  echoing  air ; 

Lo  !  war  in  heaven  ! — thick -flashing  out 
Through  torrent-rains  red  lightnings  glare 

As  though  the  Alps,  with  mortal  ire, 
•  At  once  a  thousand  voices  raised, 

And  with  a  thousand  swords  of  fire, 
At  once  in  conflict  blazed 


THE   ALPS.  01 


PART  II.     Night 

COME,  golden  Evening,  in  the  west 

Enthrone  the  storm-dispelling  sun, 
And  let  the  triple  rainbow  rest 

O'er  all  the  mountain-tops  : — 'tis  done ; 
The  deluge  ceases ;  bold  and  bright 

The  rainbow  shoots  from  hill  to  hill ; 
Down  sinks  the  sun ;  on  presses  night ; 

— Mont  Blanc  is  lovely  still. 

There  take  thy  stand,  my  spirit ; — spread 

The  world  of  shadows  at  thy  feet; 
And  mark  how  calmly,  overhead,       , 

The  stars  like  saints  in  glory  meet: 
While  hid  in  solitude  sublime, 

Methinks  I  muse  on  Nature's  tomb, 
And  hear  the  passing  foot  of  Time 

Step  through  the  gloom. 

All  in  a  moment,  crash  on  crash, 

From  precipice  to  precipice, 
An  avalanche's  ruins  dash 

Down  to  the  nethermost  abyss ; 
Invisible,  the  ear  alone 

Follows  the  uproar  till  it  dies ; 
Echo  on  echo,  groan  for  groan, 

From  deep  to  deep  replies. 

Silence  again  the  darkness  seals, — 

Darkm-ss  that  may  be  felt ; — but  soon 
The  silver-clouded  east  reveals 

The  midnight  spectre  of  the  moon  ; 
In  half-eclipse  she  lifts  her  horn, 

Yet,  o'er  the  host  of  heaven  supreme, 
Brings  the  faint  semblance  of  a  morn 

With  her  awakening  beam. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Ha !  at  her  touch',  these  Alpine  heights 

Unreal  mockeries  appear ; 
With  blacker  shadows,  ghastlier  lights, 

Enlarging  as  she  climbs  the  sphere ; 
A  crowd  of  apparitions  pale  ! 

I  hold  my  breath  in  chill  suspense, 
— They  seem  so  exquisitely  frail, — 

Lest  they  should  vanish  hence. 

I  breathe  again,  I  freely  breathe  ; 

Lake  of  Geneva  !  thee  I  trace, 
Like  Dian's  crescent  far  beneath, 

And  beautiful  as  Dian's  face. 
Pride  of  this  land  of  liberty  ! 

All  that  thy  waves  reflect  I  love  ; 
Where  heaven  itself,  brought  down  to  thee, 

Looks  fairer  than  above. 

Safe  on  thy  banks  again  I  stray, 

The  trance  of  poesy  is  o'er, 
And  I  am  here  at  dawn  of  day, 

Gazing  on  mountains  as  before  ; 
For  all  the  strange  mutations  wrought 

Were  magic  feats  of  my  own  mind ; 
Thus,  in  the  fairy-land  of  thought, 

Whate'er  I  seek  I  find. 

Yet,  O  ye  everlasting  hills  ! 

Buildings  of  GOD  not  made  with  hands, 
Whose  word  performs  whate'er  He  wills, 

Whose  word,  though  ye  shall  perish,  stands 
Can  there  be  eyes  that  look  on  you, 

Till  tears  of  rapture  made  them  dim, 
Nor  in  his  works  the  Maker  view, 

Then  lose  his  works  in  Him  ? 

By  me,  when  I  behold  Him  not, 
Or  love  Him  not  when  I  behold, 

Be  all  I  ever  knew  forgot ; 

My  pulse  stand  still,  my  heart  grow  cold ; 


THE    BRIDAL    AND    THE    BURIAL.  339 

Transform'd  to  ice,  'twixt  earth  and  sky, 

On  yonder  cliff  my  form  be  seen, 
That  all  may  ask,  but  none  reply, 

What  my  offence  hath  been. 


THE  BRIDAL  AND  THE  BURIAL. 

"  BLESSED  is  the  bride  whom  the  sun  shines  on ; 
Blessed  is  the  corpse  which  the  rain  rains  on  " 

I  saw  thee  young  and  beautiful, 

I  saw  thee  rich  and  gay, 

In  the  first  blush  of  womanhood, 

Upon  thy  wedding-day : 

The  church-bells  rang, 

And  the  little  children  sang, — 

"  Flowers,  flcwers,  kiss  her  feet ; 

Sweets  to  the  sweet; 

The  winter's  past,  the  rains  are  gone ; 

Blessed  is  the  bride  whom  the  sun  shines  on." 

I  saw  thee  poor  and  desolate, 

I  saw  thee  fade  away, 

In  broken-hearted  widowhood, 

Before  thy  locks  were  gray ; 

The  death-bell  rang, 

And  the  little  children  sang, — 

"Lilies,  dress  her  winding-sheet; 

Sweets  to  the  sweet ; 

The  summer's  past,  the  sunshine  gone ; 

Blessed  is  the  corpse  which  the  rain  rains  on.' 

"Blessed  is  the  bride  whom  the  sun  shines  on ; 
Blessed  is  the  coqise  which  the  rain  rains  en  " 


110  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


YOUTH  RENEWED. 

SPRING-FLOWERS,  spring-birds,  spring-breezes, 

Are  felt,  and  heard,  find  seen ; 
Light  trembling  transport  seizes 

My  heart, — with  sighs  between  ; 
These  old  enchantments  fill  the  mind 
With  scenes  and  seasons  far  behind  ; 
Childhood,  its  smiles  and  tears, 
Youth,  with  its  flush  of  years, 
Its  morning  clouds  and  dewy  prime, 
More  exquisitely  touch'd  by  Time. 

F  mcies  again  are  springing, 

Like  May-flowers  in  the  vales  ; 
While  hopes,  long  lost,  are  singing, 

From  thorns,  like  nightingales  ; 
And  kindly  spirits  stir  my  blood, 
Like  vernal  airs  that  curl  the  flood : 
There  falls  to  manhood's  lot 
A  joy,  which  youth  has  not, 
A  dream  more  beautiful  than  truth, 
— Returning  Spring  renewing  Youth. 

Thus  sweetly  to  surrender 

The  present  for  the  past ; 
In  sprightly  mood,  yet  tender, 

Life's  burden  down  to  cast, 
— This  is  to  taste,  from  stage  to  stage, 
Youth  on  <he  lees  refined  by  age  : 
Like  wine  well  kept  and  long, 
Heady,  nor  harsh,  nor  strong, 
With  every  annual  cup,  is  quaflTd 
A  richer,  purer,  mellower  draught 

B&rrawfaU,  1S25 


THE   DAISY    IN    INDIA.  841 


THE  DAISY  IN  INDIA. 

The  simple  Jiistory  of  these  stanzisis  the  following.  A  friend  of  mine,  a  scientific 
botanist,  residing  near  Sheffield,  had  sent  a  package  of  sundry  kinds  01'  British 
seeds  to  the  learned  and  venerable  Doctor  WILLIAM  CAREY,  one  of  the  first 
Baptist  Missionaries  to  India,  where  they  had  established  themselves  in  the 
small  I>!tni-!i  settlement  of  Serampore,  in  the  province  of  Bengal.  Some  of 
the  seeds  h.id  been  enclosed  in  a  bag,  containing  a  portion  of  their  native 
earth.  In  M  in  h,  1821,  a  letter  of  acknowledgment  was  received  by  his  corres- 
pondent from  the  Doctor,  who  was  himself  well  skilled  in  botany,  and  had  a 
garden  ri<  h  in  plants,  both  tropical  and  European.  In  this  enclosure,  he  waa 
wont  to  spend  an  hour  every  morning,  before  he  entered  upon  those  labours 
and  studies  which  In  ve  rendered  his  name  illustrious  both  at  home  and  abroad, 
as  one  of  the  most  accomplished  of  oriental  scholars,  and  a  translator  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures  into  many  of  the  Hindoo  languages.  Iti  the  letter  afore-men- 
tioned, which  was  shown  to  me,  the  R°<>d  man  says,— "That  I  might  be  sure 
not  to  lose  any  part  of  your  val  lahle  prrsent,  I  shook  the  hag  over  a  patch  of 
earth  in  a  shndy  place:  on  visiting  which,  a  few  days  afterwards,  I  found 
springing  up,  to  my  inexpressible  delight,  a  bellis  perennis  of  our  English 
pastures.  I  know  not  that  I  ever  enjoyed,  since  leaving  Europe,  a  simple 
pleasure  so  exquisite  as  Ihe  siirht  of  this  English  I)  iisv  afforded  me  ;  not 
having  seen  one  for  upwards  of  thirty  years,  and  never  expecting  to  see  one 
again." 

On  the  perusal  qf  this  passage,  the  following  stanzas  seemed  to  spring  up  almost 
spontaneously  in  my  mind,  as  the  "  little  English  Flower"  in  the  good  Doctor's 
garden,  whom  I  imagined  to  be  thus  addressing  it  on  iis  sudden  appearance. — 
With  great  carp  and  attention  he  was  able  to  perpetuate  "the  Daisy  in  India," 
as  an  annual  only,  raised  In  teed  from  season  to  season.  It  mny  be  observed 
that,  amidst  the  luxuriance  of  tropical  vegetation,  there  are  comparatively 
few  small  plants,  like  the  multifarious  progeny  of  our  native  Flora. 

There  is  a  beautiful  coincidence  between  a  fact  and  a  fiction  in  this  circum- 
stance. Among  Ihe  many  natural  and  striking  expedients  by  which  the  inge- 
nious author  of  Robinton  Crusoe  contrives  to  supply  his  hero  on  the  desolate 
island  with  necessaries  and  comforts  of  life,  not  indigenous,  we  are  informed, 
that  Crusoe  one  day,  long  afler  hi-  shipwreck  and  residence  there,  perceived 
some  delicate  blade*  of  vegetation  peeping  forth,  'ifter  the  rains,  on  a  patch  of 
(round  near  hi*  dwelling-place.  Not  knowing  what  they  were,  he  Matched 
their  growth  from  day  to  d.ty,  I  ill  he  ascertained,  to  his  "inexpressible  del  in  In," 
tb.it  they  were  plant*  of  some  kind  of  English  r.orn.  lie  then  recollected 
having  shaken  out  on  tint  spot  the  duxly  refuse  of  "a  bag"  which  had  been 
used  to  hold  grain  for  the  fowls  on  shipboard.  "  With  great  cnre  mid  atten- 
tion," lie  was  enabled  to  preserve  the  precious  "talks  till  the  full  corn  ripened 
In  the  <  ar.  Me  then  rea|>ed  Ihe  first  fruits  oflhin  spontaneous  Inrvest,  sowed 
them  again,  and,  till  hu  rele  se  from  captivity  there,  ate  bread  in  hi*  lonely 
•bode, 

"  Placed  far  amid  the  melancholy  main." 

THRICE  welcome,  little  English  flower ! 
My  mother-country's  white  and  red, 
In  rose  or  lily,  till  this  hour, 
Never  to  me  such  beauty  spread: 

29* 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Transplanted  from  thine  i?land-bed, 
A  treasure  in  a  grain  of  earth, 
Strange  as  a  spirit  from  the  dead. 
Thine  embryo  sprang  to  birth. 

Thrice  welcome,  little  English  flower  ! 
Whose  tribes,  beneath  our  natal  skies, 
Shut  close  their  leaves  while  vapours  lower, 
But,  when  the  sun's  gay  beams  arise, 
With  unabash'd  but  modest  eyes, 
Follow  his  motion  to  the  west, 
Nor  cease  to  gaze  till  daylight  dies, 
Then  fold  themselves  to  rest. 

Thrice  welcome,  little  English  flower ! 
To  this  resplendent  hemisphere, 
Where  Flora's  giant  offspring  tower 
In  gorgeous  liveries  all  the  year : 
Thou,  only  thou,  art  little  here, 
Like  worth  unfriended  and  unknown, 
Yet  to  my  British  heart  more  dear 
Than  all  the  torrid  zone. 

Thrice  welcome,  little  English  flower! 
Of  early  scenes  beloved  by  me, 
While  happy  in  my  father's  bower, 
Thou  shall  the  blithe  memorial  be; 
The  fairy  sports  of  infancy, 
Youth's  golden  age,  and  manhood's  prime, 
Home,  country,  kindred,  friends, — with  thce, 
I  find  in  this  far  clime. 

Thrice  welcome,  little  English  flower! 
I'll  rear  thee  with  a  trembling  hand : 
Oh,  for  the  April  sun  and  shower, 
The  sweet  May  dews  of  that  fair  land, 
Where  Daisies,  thick  as  star-light,  stand 
In  every  walk ! — that  here  may  shoot 
Thy  scions,  and  thy  buds  expand, 
A  hundred  from  one  root. 


THE    PILGRIM.  «*? 


Thrice  welcome,  little  English  flower  ! 
To  me  the  pledge  of  hope  unseen : 
When  sorrow  would  my  soul  o'erpower, 
For  joys  that  were,  or  might  have  been, 
I'll  call  to  mind,  how,  fresh  and  green, 
I  saw  thee  waking  from  the  dust ; 
Then  turn  to  ht-aven  with  brow  serene, 
And  place  in  GOD  my  trust. 

1822. 


THE  PILGRIM. 

How  blest  the  Pilgrim,  who  in  trouble 

Can  lean  upon  a  bosom-friend  ; 

Strength,  courage,  hope  with  him  redouble, 

When  foes  assail,  or  griefs  impend ; 

Care  flees  before  his  footsteps,  straying, 

At  daybreak,  o'er  the  purple  heath  ; 

He  plucks  the  wild  flowers  round  him  playing, 

And  binds  their  beauty  in  a  wreath. 

More  dear  to  him  the  fields  and  mountains, 
When  with  his  friend  abroad  he  roves, 
Rests  in  the  shade  near  sunny  fountains, 
Or  talks  by  moonlight  through  the  groves : 
For  him  the  vine  expands  its  clusters, 
Spring  wakes  for  him  her  woodland  quire ; 
Yea,  when  the  storm  of  winter  blusters, 
'Tis  summer  round  his  evening  fire. 

In  good  old  age  serenely  dying, 
When  all  he  loved  forsakes  his  view, 
Sweet  is  affection's  voice  replying, 
"  I  follow  soon,"  to  his  "  Adieu !" 
Even  their,  though  earthly  ties  are  riven, 
The  spirit's  union  will  not  end  ; 

— Happy  the  man,  whom  Heaven  hath  given. 

In  life  and  death,  a  faithful  friend. 


J44  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


ROBERT  BURNS,     j  . 

WHAT  bird,  in  beauty,  flight,  or  song1, 

Can  with  the  Bard  compare, 
Who  sang  as  sweet,  and  soar'd  as  strong, 

As  ever  child  of  air  ? 

His  plume,  his  note,  his  form,  could  BURNS 
For  whim  or  pleasure  change ; 

He  was  not  one,  but  all  by  turns, 
With  transmigration  strange. 

The  Blackbird,  oracle  of  spring, 

When  flow'd  his  moral  lay ; 
The  Swallow  wheeling  on  the  wing, 

Capriciously  at  play  : 

The  Humming-bird,  from  bloom  to  bloom, 

Inhaling  heavenly  balm ; 
The  Raven,  in  the  tempest's  gloom ; 

The  Halcyon,  in  the  calm : 

In  "auld  Kirk  Alloway,"  the  Owl, 

At  witching  time  of  night ; 
By  "  bonnie  Doon,"  the  earliest  Fowl 

That  caroll'd  to  the  light. 

He  was  the  Wren  amidst  the  grove, 

When  in  his  homely  vein  ; 
At  Bannockburn  the  Bird  of  Jove, 

With  thunder  in  his  train : 

The  Woodlark,  in  his  mournful  hours ; 

The  Goldfinch,  in  his  mirth  ; 
The  Thrush,  a  spendthrift  of  his  powers, 

Enrapturing  heaven  and  earth ; 

The  Swan,  in  majesty  and  grace, 
Contemplative  and  still : 


THE    STRANGER   AND    HIS   FRIEND.  M5 

But  roused, — no  Falcon,  in  the  chase, 
Could  like  his  satire  kill. 

The  Linnet  in  simplicity, 

In  tenderness  the  Dove ; 
But  more  than  all  beside  was  he 

The  Nightingale  in  love. 

Oh  !  had  he  never  stoop'd  to  shame, 

Nor  lent  a  charm  to  vice, 
How  had  Devotion  loved  to  name 

That  Bird  of  Paradise  ! 

Peace  to  the  dead ! — In  Scotia's  choir 

Of  Minstrels  great  and  small, 
He  sprang  from  his  spontaneous  fire, 

The  Phoenix  of  them  all. 

1830. 


THE  STRANGER  AND'  HIS  FRIEND 

"Ye  have  done  it  unto  me." — Mitt.  xxv.  40 

A  POOR  wayfaring  Man  of  grief 

Hath  often  cross'd  me  on  my  way, 
Who  sued  so  humbly  for  relief, 

That  I  could  never  answer  "  Nay :" 
I  had  not  power  to  ask  his  name, 
Whither  he  went,  or  whence  he  came, 
Yet  was  there  something  in  his  eye 
That  won  my  love,  I  knew  not  why. 

Once,  when  my  scanty  meal  was  spread, 
He  enter'd  ; — not  a  word  he  spake  ;— 
Just  perishing  for  want  of  bread  ; 

I  gave  him  all ;  he  bless'd  it,  brake, 
And  ate, — but  gave  me  part  again  ; 
Mine  was  nn  Angel's  portion  then, 
For  while  I  fed  with  eager  haste. 
That  crust  was  manna  to  my  taste. 


346  "MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

I  spied  him,  where  a  fountain  burst 

Clear  from  the  rock  ;  his  strength  was  gone ; 

The  heedless  water  mock'd  his  thirst, 
He  heard  it,  saw  it  hurrying  on : 

I  ran  to  raise  the  sufferer  up  ; 

Thrice  from  the  stream  he  drain'd  my  cup, 

Dipt,  and  return'd  it  running  o'er  ; 

I  drank,  and  never  thirsted  more. 

'Twas  night ;  the  floods  were  out ;  it  blew 

A  winter  hurricane  aloof; 
I  heard  his  voice  abroad,  and  flew 

To  bid  him  welcome  to  my  roof; 
I  warm'd,  I  clothed,  I  cheer'd  my  guest, 
Laid  him  on  my  own  couch  to  rest ; 
Then  made  the  hearth  my  bed,  and  seem'd 
In  Eden's  garden  while  I  dream'd. 

Stript,  wounded,  beaten,  nigh  to  death, 
I  found  him  by  the  highway-side : 

I  roused  his  pulse,  brought  back  his  breath, 
Revived  his  spirit,  and  supplied 

Wine,  oil,  refreshment ;  he  was  heal'd  ; 

— I  had  myself  a  wound  conceal'd  ; 

But  from  that  hour  forgot  the  smart, 

And  Peace  bound  up  my  broken  heart. 

In  prison  I  saw  him  next,  condemn'd 

To  meet  a  traitor's  doom  at  morn  ; 

The  tide  of  lying  tongues  I  stemrn'd, 

And  honour'd  him  midst  shame  and  scorn : 
My  friendship's  utmost  zeal  to  try, 
He  ask'd  if  I  for  him  would  die  ; 
The  flesh  was  weak,  my  blood  ran  chill, 
But  the  free  spirit  cried,  "  I  will." 

Then  in  a  moment  to  my  view, 

The  Stranger  darted  from  disguise ; 

The  tokens  in  his  hands  I  knew, 
My  Saviour  stood  before  mine  eyes : 


FRIENDS. 

He  spake ;  and  my  poor  name  He  named ; 
"  Of  me  thou  hast  not  been  ashamed : 
These  deeds  shall  thy  memorial  be ; 
Fear  not,  thou  didst  them  unto  Me." 

Scarborough,  December,  ISM. 


FRIENDS. 

FRIEND  after  friend  departs  : 

Who  hath  not  lost  a  friend  ? 
There  is  no  union  here  of  hearts, 

That  finds  not  here  an  end  : 
Were  this  frail  world  our  only  rest, 
Living  or  dying,  none  were  blest 

Beyond  the  flight  of  Time, 

Beyond  this  vale  of  death, 
*  There  surely  is  some  blessed  clime, 

Where  life  is  not  a  breath, 
Nor  life's  affections  transient  fire, 
Whose  sparks  fly  upward  to  expire. 

There  is  a  world  above, 

Where  parting  is  unknown ; 
A  whole  eternity  of  love, 

Form'd  for  the  good  alone  ; 
And  faith  beholds  the  dying  here 
Translated  to  that  happier  sphere. 

Thus  star  by  star  declines, 

Till  all  are  pass'd  away, 
As  morning  high  and  higher  shines 

To  pure  and  perfect  day  ; 
Nor  sink  those  stars  in  empty  night, 
— 1  hey  hide  themselves  in  heaven's  own  light. 
MM. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


A  THEME  FOR  A  POET. 
1814. 

Written  in  contemplation  of  a  Poem  on  the  Evangelization  of  one  of  the  mort 
degraded  tribes  of  heathens.  This  the  Author  some  years  afterwards  attempt- 
ed, and  partly  executed,  in  "GREENLAND,"  in  five  cantos,  of  which  the  follow- 
ing were  the  opening  lines,  but  withdrawn,  as  inapplicable  to  the  unfinished 
work  wben  it  was  published. 

Give  me  a  theme  to  grace  an  Angel's  tongue, 
A  theme  to  which  a  lyre  was  never  strung; 
Barbarian  hordes,  by  Satan's  craft  enlhrall'd, 
From  chains  to  freedom,  guilt  to  glory  call'd; 
The  deeds  of  men  unfriended  and  unknown, 
Sent  forth  by  Him  who  loves  and  saves  his  own, 
With  faithful  toil  a  barren  land  to  bless, 
And  feed  his  flocks  amid  the  wilderness. 


THE  arrow  that  shall  lay  me  low, 

Was  shot  from  Death's  unerring  bow, 

The  moment  of  my  breath ; 

And  every  footstep  I  proceed, 

It  tracks  me  with  increasing  speed ; 

t  turn, — it  meets  me, — Death 

Has  given  such  impulse  to  that  dart, 

It  points  for  ever  at  my  heart. 

And  soon  of  me  it  must  be  said, 

That  I  have  lived,  that  I  am  dead ; 

Of  all  I  leave  behind, 

A  few  may  weep  a  little  while, 

Then  bless  my  memory  with  a  smile : 

What  monument  of  mind 

Shall  I  bequeath  to  deathless  Fame, 

That  after-times  may  love  my  name  ? 


A    THEME    FOR    A    POET. 


Let  Southey  sing  of  war's  alarms, 
The  pride  of  battle,  din  of  arms, 
The  glory  and  the  guilt,— 
Of  nations  barb'rously  enslaved, 
Of  realms  by  patriot  valour  saved, 
Of  blood  insanely  spilt, 
And  millions  sacrificed  to  fate, 
To  make  one  little  mortal  great. 

Let  Scott,  in  wilder  strains,  delight 

To  chant  the  Lady  and  the  Knight, 

The  tournament,  the  chase, 

The  wizard's  deed  without  a  name, 

Perils  by  ambush,  flood,  and  flame  ; 

Or  picturesquely  trace 

The  hills  that  form  a  world  on  high, 

The  lake  that  seems  a  downward  sky. 

Let  Byron,  with  untrembling  hand, 
Impetuous  foot,  and  fiery  brand 
Lit  at  the  flames  of  hell, 
Go  down  and  search  the  human  heart, 
Till  fiends  from  every  corner  start, 
Their  crimes  and  plagues  to  tell; 
Then  let  him  fling  the  torch  away, 
And  sun  his  soul  in  heaven's  pure  day. 

Let  Wordsworth  weave,  in  mystic  rhyme 

Feelings  ineffably  oublime, 

And  sympathies  unknown  ; 

Yet  so  our  yielding  breasts  enthral, 

His  Genius  shall  possess  us  all, 

His  thoughts  become  our  own, 

And  strangely  pleased,  we  start  to  find 

Such  hidden  treasures  in  our  mind. 

Let  Campbell's  sweeter  numbers  flow 
Through  every  change  of  joy  and  wo  ; 
Hope's  morning  dreams  display, 
The  Pennsylvanian  cottage  wild, 


350  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


The  frenzy  of  O'Connor's  child, 
Or  Linden's  dreadful  day  ; 
And  still  in  each  new  form  appear 
To  every  Muse  and  Grace  more  dear. 

Transcendent  Masters  of  the  lyre ! 
Not  to  your  honours  I  aspire; 
Humbler  yet  higher  views 
Have  touch'd  my  spirit  into  flame; 
The  pomp  of  fiction  I  disclaim  ; 
Fair  Truth  !  be  thou  my  muse  ; 
Reveal  in  splendour  deeds  obscure, 
Abase  the  proud,  exalt  the  poor. 

I  sing  the  men  who  left  their  home, 
Amidst  barbarian  hordes  to  roam, 
Who  land  and  ocean  cross'd, 
Led  by  a  load-star,  mark'd  on  high 
By  Faith's  unseen,  all-seeing  eye,— 
To  seek  and  save  the  lost ; 
Where'er  the  curse  on  Adam  spread, 
To  call  his  offspring  from  the  dead. 

Strong  in  the  great  Redeemer's  name, 
They  bore  the  cross,  despised  the  shame* 
And,  like  their  Master  here, 
Wrestled  with  danger,  pain,  distress, 
Hunger,  and  cold,  and  nakedness, 
And  every  form  of  fear ; 
To  feel  his  love  their  only  joy, 
To  tell  that  love  their  sole  employ. 

O  Thou,  who  wast  in  Bethlehem  born, 

The  Man  of  sorrows  and  of  scorn, 

Jesus,  the  sinners'  Friend  ! 

— O  Thou,  enthroned  in  filial  right, 

Above  all  creature-power  and  might ; 

Whose  kingdom  shall  extend, 

Till  earth,  like  heaven,  thy  name  shall  fill, 

And  men,  like  angels,  do  thy  will : — 


NIGHT.  SSI 

Thou,  whom  I  love,  but  cannot  see. 
My  Lord,  rny  God  !  look  down  on  me ; 
My  low  affections  raise  ; 
The  spirit  of  liberty  impart, 
Enlarge  my  soul,  inflame  my  heart, 
And,  while  I  spread  thy  praise, 
Shine  on  my  path,  in  mercy  shine, 
Prosper  my  work,  and  make  it  thine. 

1818. 


NIGHT. 

NIGHT  is  the  time  for  rest ; 

How  sweet,  when  labours  close, 
To  gather  round  an  aching  breast 

The  curtain  of  repose, 
Stretch  the  tired  limbs,  and  lay  the  head 
Down  on  our  own  delightful  bed  ! 

Night  is  the  time  for  dreams  ; 

The  gay  romance  of  life, 
When  truth  that  is,  and  truth  that  seems, 

Mix  in  fantastic  strife : 
Ah  !  visions,  less  beguiling  far 
Than  waking  dreams  by  daylight  are  \ 

Night  is  the  time  for  toil ; 

To  plough  the  classic  field, 
Intent  to  find  the  buried  spoil 

Its  wealthy  furrows  yield  ; 
Till  all  is  ours  that  sages  taught, 
That  poets  sang,  and  heroes  \vror  ght. 

Night  is  the  time  to  weep ; 

To  wet  with  unseen  tears 
Those  graves  of  memory,  whore  sleep 

The  joys  of  other  years  ; 


852  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Hopes,  that  were  Angels  at  their  birth, 
But  died  when  young,  like  things  of  earth. 

Night  is  the  time  to  watch ; 

O'er  ocean's  dark  expanse, 
To  hail  the  Pleiades,  or  catch 

The  full  moon's  earliest  glance, 
That  brings  into  the  home-sick  mind 
All  we  have  loved  and  left  behind. 

Night  is  the  time  for  care ; 

Brooding  on  hours  misspent, 
To  see  the  spectre  of  Despair 

Come  to  our  lonely  tent ; 
Like  Brutus,  'midst  his  slumbering  host, 
Summon'd  to  die  by  Caesar's  ghost. 

Night  is  the  time  to  think ; 

When,  from  the  eye,  the  soul 
Takes  flight,  and,  on  the  utmost  brink 

Of  yonder  starry  pole, 
Discerns  beyond  the  abyss  of  night 
The  dawn  of  uncreated  light. 

Night  is  the  time  to  pray ; 

Our  Saviour  oft  withdrew 
To  desert  mountains  far  away; 

So  will  his  followers  do, 
Steal  from  the  throng  to  haunts  untrod, 
And  commune  there  alone  with  God. 

Night  is  the  time  for  Death  ; 

When  all  around  is  peace, 
Calmly  to  yield  the  weary  breath, 

From  sin  and  suffering  cease, 
ILink  of  heaven's  bliss,  and  give  the  sign 
To  p«ii:ing  friends ; — such  death  be  mine ! 

\~roviraU,  Septfmlcr,  .1821. 


ASPIRATIONS   OF  YOUTH.  3M 


ASPIRATIONS  OF  YOUTH. 

HIGHER,  higher  will  we  climb 

Up  the  mount  of  glory, 
That  our  names  may  live  through  time 

In  our  country's  story ; 
Happy,  when  her  welfare  calls, 
He  who  conquers,  he  who  falls. 

Deeper,  deeper  let  us  toil 
In  the  mines  of  knowledge ; 

Nature's  wealth  and  learning's  spoil 
Win  from  school  and  college  ; 

Delve  we  there  for  richer  gems 

Than  the  stars  of  diadems. 

Onward,  onward  will  we  press 
Through  the  path  of  duty ; 

Virtue  is  true  happiness, 
Excellence  true  beauty ; 

Minds  are  of  supernal  birth, 

Let  us  make  a  heaven  of  earth. 

Close  and  closer  then  we  knit 
Hearts  and  hands  together, 

Where  our  fire-side  comforts  sit 
In  the  wildest  weather : 

Oh  !  they  wander  wide,  who  roam, 

For  the  joys  of  life,  from  home. 

Nearer,  nearer  bands  of  love 

Draw  our  souls  in  union, 
To  our  Father's  house  above, 

To  the  saints'  communion  ; 
Thither  every  hope  ascend, 
There  may  all « ur  labours  end. 


30* 


K4  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


A  HERMITAGE. 

WHOSE  is  this  humble  dwelling-place, 
The  flat  turf-roof  with  flowers  o'ergrown  ? 

Ah !  here  the  tenant's  name  I  trace, 
Moss-cover'd,  on  the  threshold  stone. 

Well,  he  has  peace  within,  and  rest, 
Though  nought  of  all  the  world  beside ; 

Yet,  stranger,  deem  not  him  unblest, 
Who  knows  not  avarice,  lust,  or  pride. 

Nothing  he  asks,  nothing  he  cares 
For  all  that  tempts  or  troubles  round  ; 

He  craves  no  feast,  no  finery  wears, 
Nor  once  o'ersteps  his  narrow  bound. 

No  need  of  light,  though  all  be  gloom, 
To  cheer  his  eye, — that  eye  is  blind ; 

No  need  of  fire  in  this  small  room, 
He  recks  not  tempest,  rain,  or  wind. 

No  gay  companions  here  ;  no  wife 

To  gladden  home  with  true-love  smiles ; 

No  children, — from  the  woes  of  life 
To  win  him  with  their  artless  wiles. 

Nor  joy,  nor  sorrow,  enter  here, 

Nor  throbbing  heart,  nor  aching  limb ; 

No  sun,  no  moon,  no  stars  appear, 

And  man  and  brute  are  nought  to  him. 

This  dwelling  is  a  hermit's  cave, 
With  space  alone  for  one  poor  bed ; 

This  dwelling  is  a  mortal's  grave, 
Its  sole  inhabitant  is  dead. 


INSCRIPTION    FOR    A    NEGRO    WOMAN.  3f* 


INSCRIPTION 

tTNDER  THE    PICTURE    OF    AN   AGED   NEGRO   WOMAN. 

ART  thou  a  woman? — so  am  I ;  and  all 
That  woman  can  be,  I  have  been,  or  am ; 
A  daughter,  sister,  consort,  mother,  widow. 
Whiche'er  of  these  thou  art,  Oh  !  be  the  friend 
Of  one  who  is  what  thou  canst  never  be  ! 
Look  on  thyself,  thy  kindred,  home,  and  country, 
Then  fall  upon  thy  knees,  and  cry  "  Thank  God, 
An  English  woman  cannot  be  a  SLAVE  !" 

Art  thou  a  man  ? — Oh  !  I  have  known,  have  loved. 
And  lost,  all  that  to  woman  man  can  be ; 
A  father,  brother,  husband,  son,  who  shared 
My  bliss  in  freedom,  and  my  wo  in  bondage. 
— A  childless  widow  now,  a  friendless  slave. 
What  shall  I  ask  of  thee,  since  I  have  nought 
To  lose  but  life's  sad  burden  :  nought  to  gain 
But  heaven's  repose  ? — these  are  beyond  thy  power ; 
Me  thou  canst  neither  wrong  nor  help  ; — what  then  ? 
Go  to  the  bosom  of  thy  family, 
Gather  thy  little  children  round  thy  knees, 
Gaze  on  their  innocence  ;  their  clear,  full  eyes, 
All  fix'd  on  thine ;  and  in  their  mother,  mark 
The  loveliest  look  that  woman's  face  can  wear, 
Her  look  of  love,  beholding  them  and  thee : 
Then,  at  the  altar  of  your  household  joys, 
Vow  one  by  one,  vow  altogether,  vow 
With  heart  and  voice,  eternal  enmity 
Against  oppression  by  your  brethren's  hands: 
Till  man  nor  woman  under  Britain's  la\vs, 
Nor  son  nor  daughter  born  within  her  empire, 
Shall  buy,  or  sell,  or  hold,  or  be  a  slave. 

Kearboroufk,  December,  1820. 


W»  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  A  STAR. 

ADDRESSED   TO   A   YOUNG   LADY. 

A  STAR  would  be  a  flower  ; 

So  down  from  heaven  it  came, 

And  in  a  honeysuckle  bower 

Lit  up  its  little  flame. 

There  on  a  bank,  beneath  the  shade, 

By  sprays,  and  leaves,  and  blossoms  made, 

It  overlook'd  the  garden-ground, 

— A  landscape  stretching  ten  yards  round ; 

Oh  what  a  change  of  place 

From  gazing  through  th'  eternity  of  space ! 

Gay  plants  on  every  side 

Unclosed  their  lovely  blooms, 

And  scatter'd  far  and  wide 

Their  ravishing  perfumes : 

The  butterfly,  the  bee, 

And  many  an  insect  on  the  wing, 

Full  of  the  spirit  of  the  spring, 

Flew  round  and  round  in  endless  glee, 

Alighting  here,  ascending  there, 

Ranging  and  revelling  everywhere. 

Now  all  the  flowers  were  up  and  drest 

In  robes  of  rainbow-colour'd  light ; 

The  pale  primroses  look'd  their  best, 

Peonies  blush'd  with  all  their  might ; 

Dutch  tulips  from  their  beds 

Flaunted  their  stately  heads  ; 

Auriculas,  like  belles  and  beaux, 

Glittering  with  birthnight  splendour,  rose; 

And  polyanthuses  display'd 

The  brilliance  of  their  gold  brocade : 

Here  hyacinths  of  heavenly  blue 

Shook  their  rich  tresses  to  the  mcrn, 


ADVENTURE   OF   A    STAR.  197 


While  jose-buds  scarcely  show'd  their  hue, 
*       But  coyly  linger'd  on  the  thorn. 

Till  their  loved  nightingale,  who  tarried  long, 
Should  wake  them  into  beauty  with  his  spng. 
The  violets  were  past  their  prime, 
Yet  their  departing  breath 
Was  sweeter,  in  the  blast  of  death, 
Than  all  the  lavish  fragrance  of  the  time 
Amidst  this  gorgeous  train, 
Our  truant  star  shone  forth  in  vain ; 
Though  in  a  wreath  of  periwinkle, 
Through  whose  fine  gloom  it  strove  to  twinkle, 
It  seem'd  no  bigger  to  the  view 
Than  the  light  spangle  in  a  drop  of  dew. 
— Astronomers  may  shake  their  polls, 
And  tell  me, — every  orb  that  rolls 
Through  heaven's  sublime  expanse 
Is  sun  or  world,  whose  speed  and  size 
Confound  the  stretch  of  mortal  eyes, 
In  Nature's  mystic  dance  : 
It  may  be  so 
For  aught  I  know, 
Or  aught  indeed  that  they  can  show ; 
Yet  till  they  prove  what  they  aver, 
From  this  plain  truth  I  will  not  stir, 
— A  star's  a  star  ! — but  when  I  think 
Of  sun  or  world,  the  star  I  sink  ; 
^Wherefore  in  verse,  at  least  in  mine, 
Stars  like  themselves,  in  spite  of  fate,  shall  shine. 
Now  to  return  (for  we  have  wandered  far) 
To  what  was  nothing  but  a  simple  star; 
— Where  all  was  jollity  around, 
No  fellowship  the  stranger  found. 
Those  lowliest  children  of  the  earth, 
That  never  leave  their  mother's  lap, 
Companions  in  their  harmless  mirth, 
Were  smiling,  blushing,  dancing  *lere, 
Feasting  on  dew,  and  light,  aud  air, 


.\  _  ._ 


»58  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


And  fearing  no  mishap,  -, 

Save  from  the  hand  of  lady  fair, 

Who,  on  her  wonted  walk, 

Pluck'd  one  and  then  another, 

A  sister  or  a  brother, 

From  its  elastic  stalk  ; 

Happy,  no  dou  bt,  for  one  sharp  pang  to  die 

On  her  sweet  bosom,  withering  in  her  eye. 

Thus  all  day  long  that  star's  hard  lot, 

While  bliss  and  beauty  ran  to  waste, 

Was  but  to  witness  on  the  spot 

Beauty  and  bliss  it  could  not  taste. 

At  length  the  sun  went  down,  and  then 

Its  faded  glory  came  again ; 

With  brighter,  bolder,  purer  light, 

It  kindled  through  the  deepening  night, 

Till  the  green  bower,  so  dim  by  day, 

Glow'd  like  a  fairy-palace  with  its  beams ; 

In  vain,  for  sleep  on  all  the  borders  lay, 

The  flowers  were  laughing  in  the  land  of  dreams. 

Our  star,  in  melancholy  state, 

Still  sigh'd  to  find  itself  alone, 

Neglected,  cold,  and  desolate, 

Unknowing  and  unknown. 

Lifting  at  last  an  anxious  eye, 

It  saw  that  circlet  empty  in  the  sky 

Where  it  was  wont  to  roll 

Within  a  hair-breadth  of  the  pole  :  . 

In  that  same  instant,  sore  amazed, 

On  the  strange  blank  all  Nature  gazed ; 

Travellers  bewilder'd  for  their  guide, 

In  glens  and  forests  lost  their  way ; 

And  ships,  on  ocean's  trackless  tide, 

Went  fearfully  astray. 

The  star,  now  wiser  for  its  folly,  knew 

Its  duty,  dignity,  and  bliss  at  home ; 

So  up  to  heaven  again  it  flew, 

Resolved  no  more  to  roam. 


ON    PLANTING  A  TULIP-ROOT.  S5» 

One  .hint  the  humble  bard  may  send 

To  her  for  whom  these  lines  are  penn'd: 

O  may  it  be  enough  for  her 

To  shine  in  her  own  character ! 

O  may  she  be  content  to  grace, 

On  earth,  in  heaven,  her  proper  place ! 


,ON  PLANTING  A  TULIP-ROOT. 

HERE  lies  a  bulb,  the  child  of  earth, 

Buried  alive  beneath  the  clod, 
Ere  long  to  spring,  by  second  birth, 

A  new  and  nobler  work  of  God. 

'Tis  said  that  microscopic  power 

Might  through  its  swaddling  folds  descry 

The  infant  image  of  the  flower, 
Too  exquisite  to  meet  the  eye. 

This,  vernal  suns  and  rains  will  swell, 

Till  from  its  dark  abode  it  peep, 
Like  Venus  rising  from  her  shell, 

Amidst  the  spring-tide  of  the  deep. 

Two  shapely  leaves  will  first  unfold, 

Then,  on  a  smooth  elastic  stem, 
The  verdant  bud  shall  turn  to  gold, 

And  open  in  a  diadem. 

Not  one  of  Flora's  brilliant  race 

A  form  more  perfect  can  display ;       , 

Art  could  not  feign  more  simple  grace, 
Nor  Nature  take  a  line  away. 

Yet,  rich  as  morn  of  many  a  hue, 

When  flushing  clouds  through  darkness  stnko, 


160  MISCELLANEOUS   POExMS. 

The  tulip's  petals  shine  in  dew, 
All  beautiful, — but  none  alike. 

Kings,  on  their  bridal,  might  unrobe 
To  lay  their  glories  at  its  foot ; 

And  queens  their  sceptre,  crown,  and  globe, 
Exchange  for  blossom,  stalk,  and  root. 

Here  could  I  stand  and  moralize ; 

Lady,  I  leave  that  part  to  thee ; 
Be  thy  next  birth  in  Paradise, 

Thy  life  to  come  eternity  ! 

1824. 


THE  DROUGHT. 

WRITTEN  IN  THE  SUMMER  OF  1826. 
Husea,  ii.  21,  22. 

WHAT  strange,  what  fearful  thing  hath  come  to  pass? 

The  ground  is  iron,  and  the  heavens  are  brass; 

Man  on  the  withering  harvests  casts  his  eye, 

"  Give  me  your  fruits  in  season,  or  I  die ;" 

The  timely  Fruits  implore  their  parent  Earth, 

"  Where  is  thy  strength  to  bring  us  forth  to  birth  ?" 

The  Earth,  all  prostrate,  to  the  clouds  complains, 

"  Send  to  my  heart  your  fertilizing  rains ;" 

The  Clou3s  invoke  the  Heavens, — "  Collect,  dispense 

Through  us  your  quickening,  healing  influence;" 

The  Heavens  to  Him  that  made  them  raise  their  moan, 

"Command  thy  blessing,  and  it  shall  be  done  ;" 

The  Lord  is  in  his  temple  : — hush'd  and  still, 

The  suppliant  Universe  awaits  his  will. 

He  speaks  ;  and  to  the  Clouds  the  Heavens  dispense. 
With  lightning-speed,  their  genial  influence  ; 
The  gathering,  breaking  Clouds  pour  down  their  rains, 
Earth  drinks  the  bliss  through  all  her  eager  veins ; 


THE    DROUGHT.  Ml 


From  teeming  furrows  start  the  Fruits  to  birth, 
And  shake  their  treasures  on  the  lap  of  Earth  ; 
Man  sees  the  harvests  grow  beneath  his  eye, 
Turns,  and  looks  up  with  rapture  to  the  sky  ; 
All  that  have  breath  and  being  now  rejoice  ; 
All  Nature's  voices  blend  in  one  great  voice, 
"Glory  to  GOD.,  who  thus  himself  makes  known !" 
— When  shall  all  tongues  confess  Him  GOD  alone  ? 

Lord  !  as  the  rain  comes  down  from  Heaven. — the  rain 
Which  waters  Earth,  nor  thence  returns  in  vain, 
But  makes  the  tree  to  bud,  the  grass  to  spring, 
And  feeds  and  gladdens  every  living  thing, — 
So  may  thy  word,  upon  a  world  destroy'd, 
Come  down  in  blessing,  and  return  not  void ; 
So  may  it  come  in  universal  showers, 
And  fill  Earth's  dreariest  wilderness  with  flowers, 
— Wtfh  flowers  of  promise  fill  the  world,  within 
Man's  heart,  laid  waste  and  desolate  by  sin  ; 
Where  thorns  and  thistles  curse  the  infested  ground, 
Let  the  rich  fruits  of  righteousness  abound ; 
And  trees  of  life,  for  ever  fresh  and  green, 
Flourish  where  trees  of  death  alone  have  been  ;  • 
Let  Truth  look  down  from  heaven,  Hope  soar  above, 
Justice  and  Mercy  kiss,  Faith  work  by  Love ; 
Nations  new-born  their  fathers'  idols  spurn; 
The  Ransom'd  of  the  Lord  with  songs  return ; 
Heralds  the  year  of  Jubilee  proclaim  ; 
Bow  every  knee  at  the  Redeemer's  name ; 
O'er  lands,  with  darkness,  thraldom,  guilt,  o'erepread, 
In  light,  joy,  freedom,  be  the  Spirit  shed  ; 
Speak  Thou  the  word :  to  Satan's  power  say,  "  Cease," 
But  to  a  world  of  pardon'd  sinners,  "  Peace." 
— Thus  in  thy  grace,  LORD  GOD,  Thyself  make  known : 
Then  shall  all  tongues  confess  Thee  GOD  alone. 


1 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE  FALLING  LEAF 

WERE  I  a  trembling  leaf, 

On  yonder  stately  tree, 
After  a  season  gay  and  brief, 

Condemn'd  to  fade  and  flee : 

I  should  be  loth  to  fall 

Beside  the  common  way, 
Weltering  in  mire,  and  spurn'd  by  all, 

Till  trodden  down  to  clay. 

Nor  would  I  choose  to  die 

All  on  a  bed  of  grass, 
Where  thousands  of  my  kindred  lie, 

And  idly  rot  in  mass. 

Nor  would  I  like  to  spread 

My  thin  and  wilher'd  face 
In  liortus  siccus,  'pale  and  dead, 

A  mummy  of  my  race. 

JVo, — on  the  wings  of  air 

Might  I  be  left  to  fly, 
I  know  not  and  I  heed  not  where, 

A  waif  of  earth  and  sky  ! 

Or  flung  upon  the  stream, 

Curl'd  like  a  fairy-boat, 
As  through  the  changes  of  a  dream, 

To  the  world's  end  to  float ! 

Who  that  hath  ever  been, 
Could  bear  to  be  no  more  ? 

Yet  who  would  tread  again  the  scene 
He  trod  through  life  before  ? 

On,  with  intense  desire, 
Man's  spirit  will  move  on  : 

It  seems  to  die,  yet,  like  heaven's  fire, 
It  is  not  quench'd,  but  gone. 


THOUGHTS   AND    IMAGES.  3ft. 


THOUGHTS  AND  IMAGES. 

"  Come  like  shadow*,  »o  depart."        Macbeth 

THE  Diamond,  in  its  native  bed, 
Hid  like  a  buried  star  may  lie, 
Where  foot  of  man  must  never  tread, 
Seen  only  by  its  Maker's  eye : 
And  though  imbued  with  beams  to  grace 
His  fairest  work  in  woman's  face, 
Darkling,  its  fire  may  fill  the  void, 
Where  fix'd  at  first  in  solid  night ; 
Nor,  till  the  world  shall  be  destroy'd, 
Sparkle  one  moment  into  light. 

The  Plant,  upspringing  from  the  seed, 
Expands  into  a  perfect  flower ; 
The  virgin-daughter  of  the  mead, 
Wooed  by  the  sun,  the  wind,  the  shower ; 
In  loveliness  beyond  compare, 
It  toils  not,  spins  not,  knows  no  care ; 
Train'd  by  the  secret  hand,  that  brings 
All  beauty  out  of  waste  and  rude, 
It  blooms  its  season,  dies,  and  flings 
Its  germs  abroad  in  solitude. 

Almighty  skill,  in  ocean's  caves, 
Lends  the  light  Nautilus  a  form 
To  tilt  along  the  Atlantic  waves, 
Fearless  of  rock,  or  shoal,  or  storm ; 
But,  should  a  breath  of  danger  sound, 
With  sails  quick-furl'd  it  dives  profound. 
And  far  beneath  the  tempest's  path, 
In  coral  grots,  defies  the  foe, 
That  m-ver  brake,  in  heaviest  wrath, 
The  sabbath  of  the  deep  below. 


M4  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Up  from  his  dream,  on  twinkling  wings, 
The  Sky-lark  soars  amid  the  dawn ; 
Yet,  while  in  Paradise  he  sings, 
Looks  down  upon  the  quiet  lawn, 
Where  flutters,  in  his  little  nest, 
More  love  than  music  e'er  express'd ; 
Then,  though  the  Nightingale  may  thrilJ 
The  soul  with  keener  ecstasy, 
The  merry  bird  of  morn  can  fill 
All  Nature's  bosom  with  his  glee. 

The  Elephant,  embower'd  in  woods, 
,  Coeval  with  their  trees  might  seem, 
As  though  he  drank  from  Indian  floods 
Life  in  a  renovating  stream : 
Ages  o'er  him  have  come  and  fled ; 
Midst  generations  of  the  dead, 
His  bulk  survives  to  feed  and  range, 
Where  ranged  and  fed  of  old  his  sires  ; 
Nor  knows  advancement,  lapse,  or  change, 
Beyond  their  walks,  till  he  expires. 

Gem,  flower,  and  fish,  the  bird,  the  brute, 
Of  every  kind  occult  or  known, 
(Each  exquisitely  form'd  to  suit 
Its  humble  lot,  and  that  alone,) 
Through  ocean,  earth,  and  air  fulfil, 
Unconsciously,  their  Maker's  will, 
Who  gave,  without  their  toil  or  thought, 
Strength,  beauty,  instinct,  courage,  speed  ; 
While  through  the  whole  his  pleasure  wrought 
Whate'er  his  wisdom  had  decreed. 

But  Man,  the  master-piece  of  God, 
Man,  in  his  Maker's  image  framed, — 
Though  kindred  to  the  valley's  clod, 
Lord  of  thia  low  creation  named, — 
In  naked  helplessness  appears, 
Child  of  a  thousand  griefs  and  fears : 


THOUGHTS   AND    IMAGES. 


To  labour,  pain,  and  trouble  born, 
Weapon,  nor  wing,  nor  sleight  hath  he ; 
Yet,  like  the  sun,  he  brings  his  morn, 
And  is  a  king  from  infancy. 

For,  him  no  destiny  hath  bound 
To  do  what  others  did  before, 
Pace  the  same  dull  perennial  round, 
And  be  a  man,  and  be  no  more : 
A  man  ? — a  self-will'd  piece  of  earth, 
Just  as  the  lion  is,  by  birth ; 
1  To  hunt  his  prey,  to  wake,  to  sleep, 
His  father's  joys  and  sorrows  share, 
His  niche  in  Nature's  temple  keep, 
And  leave  his  likeness  in  his  heir ! — 

No ;  infinite  the  shades  between 

The  motley  millions  of  our  race ; 

No  two  the  changing  moon  hath  seen 

Alike  in  purpose,  or  in  face  ; 

Yet  all  aspire  beyond  their  fate ; 

The  least,  the  meanest,  would  be  great ; 

The  mighty  future  fills  the  mind, 

That  pants  for  more  than  earth  can  give ; 

Man,  to  this  narrow  sphere  confined, 

Dies  when  he  but  begins  to  live. 

Oh  !  if  there  be  no  world  on  high 
To  yield  his  powers  unfetter'd  scope ; 
If  man  be  only  born  to  die, 
Whence  this  inheritance  of  hope  ? 
Wherefore  to  him  alone  were  lent 
Riches  that  never  can  be  spent  ? 
Enough,  not  more,  to  all  the  rest, 
For  life  and  happiness,  was  given ; 
To  man,  mysteriously  unblest, 
Too  much  for  any  state  but  heaven. 

It  is  not  thus ; — it  cannot  be, 
That  one  so  gloriously  endow'd 

31* 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


With  views  that  reach  eternity, 
Should  shine  and  vanish  like  a  cloud : 
Js  there  a  God  ! — all  Nature  shows 
There  is, — and  yet  no  mortal  knows : 
The  mind  that  could  this  truth  conceive, 
Which  brute  sensation  never  taught, 
No  longer  to  the  dust  would  cleave, 
But  grow  immortal  with  the  thought. 


619. 


THE  AGES  OF  MAN. 

YOUTH,  fond  youth  !  to  thee,  in  life's  gay  morning, 
New  and  wonderful  are  heaven  and  earth ; 

Health  the  hills,  content  the  fields  adorning, 
Nature  rings  with  melody  and  mirth  ; 

Love  invisible,  beneath,  above, 

Conquers  all  things  ;  all  things  yield  to  love. 

Time,  swift  time,  from  years  their  motion  stealing, 
Unperceived  hath  sober  manhood  brought ; 

Truth,  her  pure  and  humble  forms  revealing, 
Peoples  fancy's  fairy-land  with  thought ; 

Then  the  heart,  no  longer  prone  to  roam, 

Loves,  loves  best,  the  quiet  bliss  of  home. 

/  ^e,  old  age,  in  sickness,  pain,  and  sorrow, 

Creeps  with  lengthening  shadow  o'er  the  scene; 

Life  was  yesterday,  'tis  death  to-morrow, 
And  to-day  the  agony  between  : 

Then  how  longs  the  weary  soul  for  thee, 

Bright  and  beautiful  eternity  ! 


THE    GRAVE. 


THE  GRAVE. 

THERE  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep, 
A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  found, 
They  softly  lie  and  sweetly  sleep 

Low  in  the  ground. 

The  storm  that  wrecks  the  winter  sky 
No  more  disturbs  their  deep  repose, 
Than  summer-evening's  latest  sigh 

That  shuts  the  rose. 

I  long  to  lay  this  painful  head 
And  aching  heart  beneath  the  soil, 
To  slumber  in  that  dreamless  bed 

From  all  my  toil. 

For  misery  stole  me  at  my  birth, 
And  cast  me  helpless  on  the  wild  : 

I  perish ; O  my  Mother  Earth 

Take  home  thy  Child. 

On  thy  dear  lap  these  limbs  reclined 
Shall  gently  moulder  into  thee ; 
Nor  leave  one  wretched  trace  behind 
Resembling  me. 

Hark  ! — a  strange  sound  affrights  mine  ear; 
My  pulse, — my  brain  runs  wild, — I  rave ; 
— Ah  J  who  art  thou  whose  voice  I  hear  ? 

"  I  am  THE  GRAVE  ! 

The  ORAVR,  that  never  spake  before, 
Hath  found  at  length  a  tongue  to  chide ; 
O  listen  ! — I  will  speak  no  more  : — 
Be  silent,  Pride ! 


168  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


"  Art  thou  a  WRETCH  of  hope  forlorn, 
The  victim  of  consuming  care  ? 
Is  thy  distracted  conscience  torn 

By  fell  despair? 

"  Do  foul  misdeeds  of  former  times 
Wring  with  remorse  thy  guilty  breast  ? 
And  ghosts  of  unforgiven  crimes 

Murder  thy  rest  ? 

"  Lash'd  by  the  furies  of  the  mind, 
From  Wrath  and  Vengeance  wouldst  thou  flee  ? 
Ah  !  think  not,  hope  not,  fool,  to  find 
A  friend  in  me. 

"  By  all  the  terrors  of  the  tomb, 
Beyond  the  power  of  tongue  to  tell ; 
By  the  dread  secrets  of  my  womb ; 

By  Death  and  Hell ; 

"  I  charge  thee,  LIVE  ! — repent  and  pray ; 
In  dust  thine  infamy  deplore  ; 
There  yet  is  mercy ; — go  thy  way, 
And  sin  no  more. 

•*  Art  thou  a  MOURNER  ? — Hast  thou  known 
The  joy  of  innocent  delights, 
Endearing  days  for  ever  flown, 

And  tranquil  nights  ? 

"  O  LIVE  ! and  deeply  cherish  still 

The  sweet  remembrance  of  the  past : 

Rely  on  Heaven's  unchanging  will  . 

For  peace  at  last. 

"  Art  thou  a  WANDERER  ? — Hast  thou  seen 
Overwhelming  tempests  drown  thy  bark  ? 
A  shipwreck'd  sufferer  hast  thou  been, 
Misfortune's  mark  ? 


THE    GRAVE. 


"  Though  long  of  winds  and  waves  the  spoil, 
Condemn'd  in  wretchedness  to  roam, 
LIVE  j — thou  shall  reach  a  sheltering  port, 
A  quiel  home. 

"  To  FRIENDSHIP  didst  thou  trusl  ihy  fame, 
And  was  thy  friend  a  deadly  foe, 
Who  stole  into  thy  breast  lo  aim 
A  surer  blow  ? 

'LrvE  ! — and  repine  nol  o'er  his  loss, 
A  loss  unworthy  to  be  told  : 
Thou  hasl  mistaken  sordid  dross 

For  friendship's  gold; 

"  Seek  the  true  Ireasure,  seldom  found, 
Of  power  the  fiercest  griefs  to  calm, 
And  soothe  the  bosom's  deepest  wound 
With  heavenly  balm. 

"  Did  WOMAN'S  charms  thy  youth  beguile, 
And  did  the  Fair  One  faithless  prove? 
Hath  she  betray 'd  thee  with  a  smile, 
And  sold  thy  love  ? 

M  LIVE  ! — 'Twas  a  false  beAvildering  fire : 
Too  often  Love's  insidious  dart 
Thrills  the  fond  soul  with  wild  desire, 
But  kills  the  heart. 

"  Tt  ou  yel  shall  know,  how  sweel,  how  dear 
To  gaze  on  listening  Beauty's  eye ; 
To  ask, — and  pause  in  hope  and  fear 
Till  she  reply. 

••  A  nobler  flame  shall  warm  thy  breast, 
A  brighter  maiden  faithful  prove  ; 
T^iV  youth,  thine  age,  shall  yet  be  blest 
In  woman's  love. 


»70  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Whate'er  thy  lot, — whoe'er  thou  be, — 

Confess  thy  folly, — kiss  the  rod, 
And  in  thy  chastening  sorrow  see 

The  hand  of  GOD. 


44  A  bruised  reed  He  will  not  break ; 
Afflictions  all  his  children  feel : 
He  wounds  them  for  his  mercy's  sake, 
He  wounds  to  heal. 

"Humbled  beneath  his  mighty  hand, 
Prostrate  his  Providence  adore : 
'Tis  done ! — Arise  !  He  bids  thee  stand, 
To  fall  no  more. 

"  Now,  Traveller  in  the  vale  of  tears, 
To  realms  of  everlasting  light, 
Through  Time's  dark  wilderness  of  years 
Pursue  thy  flight, 

"  There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep, 
A  rest  for  weary  Pilgrims  found  ; 
And  while  the  mouldering  ashes  sleep 
Low  in  the  ground 

"  The  Soul,  of  origin  divine, 
GOD'S  glorious  image,  freed  from  clay, 
In  heaven's  eternal  sphere  shall  shine 
A  star  of  day. 

"  The  SXJN  is  but  a  spark  of  fire, 
A  transient  meteor  in  the  sky ; 
The  SOUL,  immortal  as  its  Sire, 

SHALL   NEVER   DIE.** 

mi. 


BOLEHILL,    TREES.  IT1 


BOLEIIILL  TREES. 

A  congpicuo is  plantation,  encompassing  a  schooMtnuse  and  plny-pronnd,  on  a 
bleak  eminence,  at  Barlow,  in  Derbyshire :  nn  ilie  one  tianil  facing  tin-  high 
moora  ;  on  the  other,  overlooking  a  rkhly-rultivaten',  well-wooded,  an<1  moun- 
tainous country,  near  the  seat  of  a  gentlemen  wlu-re  the  writer  has  spent 
many  happy  hours. 

Now  peace  to  his  ashes  who  planted  yon  trees, 

That  welcome  my  wandering  eye  ! 
In  lofty  luxuriance  they  wave  with  the  breeze, 

And  resemble  a  grove  in  the  sky  ; 
On  the  brow  of  the  mountain,  uncultured  and  bleak. 

They  flourish  in  grandeur  sublime, 
Adorning  its  bald  and  majestical  peak, 

Like  the  lock  on  the  forehead  of  Time. 

A  land-mark  they  rise  ; — to  the  stranger  forlorn 

All  night  on  the  wild  heath  delay'd, 
'Tis  rapture  to  spy  the  young  beauties  of  morn 

Unveiling  behind  their  dark  shade  : 
The  homeward-bound  husbandman  joys  to  behold, 

On  the  line  of  the  gray  evening  scene, 
Their  branches  yet  gleaming  with  purple  and  gold, 

And  the  sunset  expiring  between. 

The  maidens  that  gather  the  fruits  of  the  moor,** 

While  weary  and  fainting  they  roam, 
Through  the  blue  dazzling  distance  of  noon-lig»ht  explore 

The  trees  that  re/nind  them  of  home  : 
The  children  that  range  in  the  valley  suspend 

Their  sports  and  in  ecstasy  gaze, 
When  they  see  the  broad  moon  from  the  summit  ascend, 

And  their  school-house  and  grove  in  a  b'aze. 

Oh !  sweet  to  my  soul  is  that  beautiful  grove, 
Awakening  remembrance  most  dear  ; — 

•  Bilbiurriei,  cluilur-berriei,  and  crane-berries. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


When  lonely  in  anguish  and  exile  I  rove, 

Wherever  its  glories  appear, 
It  gladdens  my  spirit,  it  soothes  from  afar 

With  tranquil  and  tender  delight, 
It  shines  through  my  heart,  like  a  hope-beaming  star, 

Alone  in  the  desert  of  night. 

It  tells  me  of  moments  of  innocent  bliss, 

For  ever  and  ever  gone  o'er  ; 
Like  the  light  of  a  smile,  like  the  balm  of  a  kiss, 

They  were,  —  but  they  will  be  no  more  : 
Yet  wherefore  of  pleasures  departed  complain, 

That  leave  such  endearment  behind  ? 
Though  .the  sun  of  their  sweetness  be  sunk  in  the  main, 

Their  twilight  still  rests  on  the  mind. 

Then  peace  to  his  ashes  who  planted  those  trees  ! 

Supreme  o'er  the  landscape  they  rise, 
With  simple  and  lovely  magnificence  please 

All  bosoms,  and  gladden  ah1  eyes  : 
Nor  marble,  nor  brass,  could  emblazon  his  fame 

Like  his  own  sylvan  trophies,  that  wave 
In  graceful  memorial,  and  whisper  his  name, 

And  scatter  their  leaves  on  his  grave. 

Ah  !  thus,  when  I  sleep  in  the  desolate  tomb, 

May  the  laurels  I  planted  endure, 
On  the  mountain  of  high  immortality  bloom, 

Midst  ligfttning  and  tempest  secure  ! 
Then  ages  unborn  shall  their  verdure  admire, 

And  nations  sit  under  their  shade, 
While  my  spirit,  in  secret,  shall  move  o'er  my  lyre, 

Aloft  in  their  branches  display'd. 

Hence  dream  of  vain  glory  !  —  the  light  drop  of  dew 

That  glows  in  the  violet's  eye, 
[n  the  splendour  of  morn,  to  a  fugitive  vieW, 

May  rival  a  star  of  the  sky  ; 


THE    OLD    MAN'S   SONG.  9J3 

But  the  violet  is  pluck'd,  and  the  dew-drop  is  flown. 

The  star  unextinguish'd  shall  shine  : 
Then  mine  be  the  laurels  of  virtue  alone, 

And  the  glories  of  Paradise  mine. 

1807. 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  SONG. 

SHALL  Man  of  frail  fruition  boast  ? 

Shall  life  be  counted  dear, 
Oft  but  a  moment,  and  at  most 

A  momentary  year? 

There  was  a  time, — that  time  is  past, — 
When,  youth  !  I  bloom'd  like  thee  ! 

A  time  will  come, — 'tis  coming  fast, 
When  thou  shall  fade  like  me : — 

Like  me  through  varying  seasons  range, 
And  past  enjoyments  mourn  ; — 

The  fairest,  sweetest  spring  shall  change 
To  winter  in  its  turn. 

In  infancy,  my  vernal  prime, 

When  life  itself  was  new, 
Amusement  pluck'd  the  wings  of  time, 

Yet  swifter  still  he  flew. 

Summer  my  youth  succeeded  soon,       ^ 

My  sun  ascended  high, 
And  pleasure  held  the  reins  till  noon, 

But  grief  drove  down  the  sky. 

Like  Autumn,  rich  in  ripening  corn, 
Came  manhood's  sober  reign  ; 

My  harvest-moon  scarce  fill'd  her  horn, 
When  she  began  to  wane. 

Close  follow'd  age,  infirm  old  age, 
The  winter  of  my  year ; 

33 


374 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS 


1804. 


When  shall  I  fall  before  his  rage, 
To  rise  beyond  the  sphere  ! 

I  long  to  cast  the  chains  away, 
That  hold  my  soul  a  slave, 

To  burst  these  dungeon  walls  of  clay, 
Enfranchised  from  the  grave. 

Life  lies  in  embryo, — never  free 
Till  Nature  yields  her  breath, 

Till  Time  becomes  Eternity, 
And  Man  is  born  in  Death. 


THE  GLOW-WORM. 

The  male  of  this  insect  is  said  to  he  a  fly,  which  the  female  caterpillar  attract* 
in  the  night  by  the  lustre  of  her  train. 

WHEN  Evening  closes  Nature's  eye, 
The  Glow-worm  lights  her  little  spark, 

To  captivate  her  favourite  fly, 

And  tempt  the  rover  through  the  dark. 

Conducted  by  a  sweeter  star, 

Than  all  that  deck  the  fields  above, 

He  fondly  hastens  from  afar, 
To  soothe  her  solitude  with  love. 

Thus  in  this  wilderness  of  tears, 

Amidst  the  world's  perplexing  gloom 

The  transient  torch  of  Hymen  cheers 
The  pilgrim  journeying  to  the  tomb. 

Unhappy  he  whose  hopeless  eye 
Turns  to  the  light  of  love  in  vain ; 

Whose  cynosure  is  in  the  sky, 
He  on  the  dark  and  lonely  main. 

1804. 


THE    MOLE-HILL.  Hi 


THE  MOLE-HILL. 

TELL  me,  thou  dust  beneath  my  feet, 
Thou  dust  that  once  hadst  breath! 

Tell  me  ho\v  many  mortals  meet 
In  this  small  hill  of  death  ? 

The  mole  that  scoops  with  curious  toil 

Her  subterranean  bed, 
Thinks  not  she  ploughs  a  human  soil, 

And  mines  among  the  dead. 

But,  O  !  where'er  she  turns  the  ground, 

My  kindred  earth  I  see  ; 
Once  every  atom  of  this  mound 

Lived,  breathed,  and  felt,  like  me. 

Like  me,  these  elder-bom  of  clay 

Enjoy'd  the  cheerful  light, 
Bore  the  brief  burden  of  a  day, 

And  went  to  rest  at  night. 

Far  in  the  regions  of  the  morn, 

The  rising  sun  surveys 
Palmyra's  palaces  forlorn, 

Empurpled  with  his  rays. 

The  spirits  of  the  desert  dwell 
Where  eastern  grandeur  shone, 

And  vultures  scream,  hyaenas  yell 
Round  Beauty's  mouldering  throne 

There  the  pale  pilgrim,  as  he  stands, 

Sees,  from  the  broken  wall, 
The  shadow  tottering  on  the  sands, 

Ere  the  loose  fragment  fall. 


tT«  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Destruction  joys,  amid  those  scenes, 

To  watch  the  sport  of  Fate, 
While  Time  between  the  pillars  leans, 

And  bows  them  with  his  weight. 

But  towers  and  temples  crushed  by  Time,- 
Stupendous  wrecks !  appear 

To  me  less  mournfully  sublime 
Than  the  poor  Mole-hill  here. 

Through  all  this  hillock's  trembling  mould, 
Once  the  warm  life-blood  ran  ; 

Here  thine  original  behold, 
And  here  thy  ruins,  Man ! 

Methinks  this  dust  yet  heaves  with  breath; 

Ten  thousand  pulses  beat ; 
Tell  me, — in  this  small  hill  of  death, 

How  many  mortals  meet  ? 

By  wafting  winds  and  flooding  rains, 
From  ocean,  earth,  and  sky, 

Collected  here,  the  frail  remains 
Of  slumbering  millions  lie. 

What  scene  of  terror  and  amaze 
Breaks  through  the  twilight  gloom? 

What  hand  invisible  displays 
The  secrets  of  the  tomb  ? 

All  ages  and  all  nations  rise, 

And  every  grain  of  earth 
Beneath  my  feet,  before  mine  eyes, 

Is  startled  into  birth. 

Like  gliding  mists  the  shadowy  forms 
Through  the  deep  valley  spread, 

And  like  descending  clouds  in  storms 
Lower  round  the  mountain's  head. 

O'er  the  wild  champaign. while  they  pas* 
Their  footsteps  yield  no  sound, 


THE    MOLE-HILL.  IT? 


Nor  shake  from  the  light  trembling  grass 
A  dew-drop  to  the  ground. 

Among  the  undistinguish'd  hosts, 

My  wondering  eyes  explore 
Awful,  sublime,  terrific  ghosts, 

Heroes  and  kings  of  yore  : — 

Tyrants,  the  comets  of  their  kind, 
Whose  withering  influence  ran 

Through  all  the  promise  of  the  mind, 
And  smote  and  mildew'd  man: — 

Sages,  the  Pleiades  of  earth,  % 

Whose  genial  aspect  smiled, 
And  flowers  and  fruitage  sprang  to  birth 

O'er  all  the  human  wild. 

Yon  gloomy  ruffian,  gash'd  and  gored, 

Was  he,  whose  fatal  skill 
First  beat  the  plough-share  to  a  sword, 

And  taught  the  art  to  kill. 

Behind  him  skulks  a  shade,  bereft 

Of  fondly  worshipt  fame ; 
He  built  the  Pyramids,  but  left 

No  stone  to  tell  his  name. 

Who  is  the  chief,  with  visage  dark 

As  tempests  when  they  roar  ? 
— The  first  who  push'd  his  daring  bark 

Beyond  the  timid  shore. 

Through  storms  of  death  and  seas  of  graves 
He  sir er'd  with  steadfast  eye ; 

His  path  was  on  the  desert  waves, 
His  compass  in  the  sky. 

That  youth  who  lifts  his  graceful  hand, 

Struck  the  unshapen  block, 
And  beauty  U-up'd,  at  his  command, 

A  Venus  from  tne  rock. 


378  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Trembling  with  ecstasy  of  thought, 

Behold  the  Grecian  maid, 
Whom  love's  enchanting  impulse  taught 

To  trace  a  slumberer's  shade. 

Sweet  are  the  thefts  of  love  ; — she  stole 

His  image  while  he  lay, 
Kindle'd  the  shadow  to  a  soul, 

And  breathed  that  soul  through  clay. 

Yon  listening  nymph,  who  looks  behind, 

With  countenance  of  fire, 
Heard  midnight  music  in  the  wind,— 

And  framed  the  JEolian  lyre. 

All  hail ! — The  Sire  of  Song  appears 

The  Muse's  eldest  born  ; 
The  skylark  in  the  dawn  of  years, 

The  poet  of  the  morn. 

He  from  the  depth  of  cavern'd  woods, 

That  echoed  to  his  voice, 
Bade  mountains,  valleys,  winds,  and  floods, 

And  earth  and  heaven  rejoice. 

Though  charm'd  to  meekness  while  he  sung 
The  wild  beasts  round  him  ran, 

This  was  the  triumph  of  his  tongue, — 
It  tamed  the  heart  of  man. 

Dim  through  the  mist  of  twilight  times 

The  ghost  of  Cyrus  walks  ; 
Behind  him,  red  with  glorious  crimes, 

The  son  of  Ammon  stalks. 

Relentless  Hannibal,  in  pride 

Of  sworn,  fix'd  hatred,  lowers; 
Caesar, — 'tis  Brutus  at  his  side, — 

In  peerless  grandeur  towers. 

With  moonlight  softness  Helen's  charm* 
Dissolve  the  spectred  gloom, 


THE    MOLE-HILL.  I7» 

The  leading  star  of  Greece  in  arms, 
Portending  llion's  doom. 

But  Homer , — see  the  bard  arise ! 

And  hark  ! — he  strikes  the  lyre ; 
The  Dardan  warriors  lift  their  eyes, 

The  Argive  Chiefs  respire. 

And  while  his  music  rolls  along, 

The  towers  of  Troy  sublime, 
Raised  by  the  magic  breath  of  song, 

Mock  the  destroyer  Time. 

For  still  around  the  eternal  walls 

The  storms  of  battle  rage : 
And  Hector  conquers,  Hector  falls, 

BeAvept  in  every  age. 

Genius  of  Homer  !  Were  it  mine 

To  track  thy  fiery  car, 
And  in  thy  sunset  course  to  shine 

A  radiant  evening  star, — 

What  theme,  what  laurel  might  the  Muse 

Reclaim  from  ages  fled  ? 
What  realm-restoring  hero  choose 

To  summon  from  the  dead  ? 

Yonder  his  shadow  flits  away : 

— Thou  shall  not  thus  depart ; 
Stay,  thou  transcendent  spirit,  stay, 

A/id  tell  me  who  thou  art ! 

'Tis  Alfred  ! — In  the  rolls  of  Fame, 

And  on  the  midnight  page, 
Blazes  his  broad  refulgent  name, 

The  watch-light  of  his  age. 

A  Danish  winter,  from  the  north, 

HowPd  o'er  the  British  wild, 
But  Alfred,  like  the  spring,  broke  forth. 

And  all  the  desert  smiled. 


W>  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Back  to  the  deep  he  roll'd  the  waves, 

By  mad  invasion  hurl'd ; 
His  voice  was  liberty  to  slaves, 

Defiance  to  the  world. 

And  still  that  voice  o'er  land  and  sea 

Shall  Albion's  foes  appal ; 
The  race  of  Alfred  will  be  free ; — 

Hear  it,  and  tremble,  Gaul ! 

But  lo !  the  phantoms  fade  in  flight, 
Like  fears  that  cross  the  mind, 

Like  meteors  gleaming  through,  the  night, 
Like  thunders  on  the  wind. 

The  vision  of  the  tomb  is  past ; 

Beyond  it  who  can  tell 
In  what  mysterious  region  cast 

Immortal  spirits  dwell  ? 

I  know  not,  but  I  soon  shall  know 
When  life's  sore  conflicts  cease, 

When  this  desponding  heart  lies  low, 
And  I  shall  rest  in  peace. 

For  see,  on  Death's  bewildering  wave, 

The  rainbow  Hope  arise, 
A  bridge  of  glory  o'er  the  grave, 

That  bends  beyond  the  skies. 

From  earth  to  heaven  it  swells  and  shines 
The  pledge  of  bliss  to  Man  ; 

Time  with  Eternity  combines, 
And  grasps  them  in  a  span 

1807. 


A    VOYAGE    ROUND    THE    WORLD.  *1 


A  VOYAGE  ROUND  THE  WORLD. 

EMBLEM  of  eternity, 
Unbeginning,  endless  sea ! 
Let  me  launch  my  soul  on  thee. 

Sail,  nor  keel,  nor  helm,  nor  oar, 

Need  I,  ask  I,  to  explore 

Thine  expanse  from  shore  to  shore. 

By  a  single  glance  of  thought, 

Thy  whole  realm's  before  me  brought 

Like  the  universe,  from  nought. 

All  thine  aspects  now  I  view, 

Ever  old,  yet  ever  new, 

— Time  nor  tide  thy  power  su.bdue. 

All  thy  voices  now  I  hear ; 
Sounds  of  gladness,  grandeur,  fear, 
Meet  and  mingle  in  mine  ear. 

All  thy  wonders  are  reveal'd, 
Treasures  hidden  in  thy  field, 
From  the  birth  of  nature  seaFd. 

But  thy  depths  I  search  not  now, 
Nor  thy  liquid  surface  plow 
With  a  billow-breaking  prow. 

Eager  fancy,  unconfined, 
In  a  voyage  of  the  mind, 
Sweeps  along  thee  like  the  wind. 

Here  a  breeze,  I  skim  thy  plain, 
There  a  tempest,  pour  amain 
Thunder,  lightning,  hail,  and  rain. 

Where  the  surges  never  roll 
Round  the  undiscover'd  pole, 
Thence  set  out,  my  venturous  soul » 


383  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

See  o'er  Greenland,  cold  and  wild, 

Rocks  of  ice  eternal  piled, 

—Yet  the  mother  loves  her  child,— 

And  the  wildernesses  drear, 
To  the  native's  heart  are  dear; 
All  love's  charities  dwell  here. 

Next  on  lonely  Labrador, 

Let  me  hear  the  snow-storms  roar, 

Blinding,  burying  all  before. 

Yet  even  here,  in  glens  and  coves, 
Man  the  hrir  of  all  things  roves, 
Feasts  and  fights,  and  laughs  and  loves. 

But  a  brighter  vision  breaks 
O'er  Canadian  woods  and  lakes  ; 
— These  my  spirit  soon  forsakes. 

Land  of  exiled  liberty, 

Where  our  fathers  once  were  free, 

Brave  New  England  !  hail  to  thee  ! 

Pennsylvania,  while  thy  flood 
Waters  fields  unbought  with  blood, 
Stand  for  peace,  as  thou  hast  stood 

The  West  Indies  I  behold; 
Like  th'  Hesperides  of  old, 
— Trees  of  life  with  fruits  of  gold. 

No, — a  curse  is  on  their  soil, 
Bonds  and  scourges,  tears  and  toil, 
Man  degrade,  and  earth  despoil. 

Horror-struck  I  turn  away, 
Coasting  down  the  Mexique  bay, 
— Slavery  there  hath  had  her  day. 

Hark  !  eight  hundred  thousand  tongues 
Startle  midnight  with  strange  songs  ; 
— England  ends  her  negroes'  wrongs 


A   VOYAGE   ROUND    THE   WORLD.  383 

Loud  the  voice  of  freedom  spoke, 
Every  accent  split  a  yoke, 
Every  word  a  fetter  broke. 

South  America  expands 
Forest-mountains,  river-lands, 
And  a  nobler  race  demands. 

And  a  nobler  race  arise, 

Stretch  their 'limbs,  unclose  their  eyes, 

Claim  the  earth,  and  seek  the  skies. 

Gliding  through  Magellan's  Straits, 
Where  two  oceans  ope  their  gates, 
What  a  glorious  scene  awaits  ! 

The  immense  Pacific  smiles, 
Round  ten  thousand  little  isles, 
— Haunts  of  violence  and  wiles. 

But  the  powers  of  darkness  yield, 
For  the  cross  is  in  the  field, 
And  the  light  of  life  reveal'd. 

Rays  from  rock  to  rock  it  darts, 
Conquers  adamantine  hearts, 
And  immortal  bliss  imparts. 

North  and  west,  receding  far 
From  the  evening's  downward  star, 
Now  1  mount  Aurora's  car; — 

Pale  Siberia's  deserts  shun, 

From  Kamschatka's  storm-cliffs  run, 

South  and  east,  to  meet  the  sun. 

Jealous  China,  dire  Japan, 

With  bewilder'd  eyes  I  scan, 

— They  are  but  dead  seas  of  man. 

Ages  in  succession  find 

Forms  that  change  not,  stagnant  mind. 

And  they  leave  the  same  behind. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Lo  !  the  eastern  Cyclades, 
Phoenix-nests  and  sky-blue  seas, 
— But  I  tarry  not  with  these. 

Pass  we  drear  New  Holland's  shoals, 
Where  no  ample  river  rolls, 
— World  of  unawaken'd  souls  ! 

Bring  them  forth  ; — 'tis  Heaven's  decree. 

Man,  assert  thy  liberty ; 

Let  not  brutes  look  down  on  thee. 

Either  India  next  is  seen, 

With  the  Ganges  stretch'd  between ; 

— Ah  !  what  horrors  here  have  been. 

War,  disguised  as  commerce,  came  ; 
Britain,  carrying  sword  and  flame, 
Won  an  empire, — lost  her  name. 

But  that  name  shall  be  restored, 
Law  and  justice  wield  the  sword, 
\nd  her  God  be  here  adored. 

By  the  Gulf  of  Persia  sail, 
Where  the  true-love  nightingale 
Wooes  the  rose  in  every  vale. 

Though  Arabia  charge  the  breeze 
With  the  incense  of  her  trees, 
On  I  press  through  southern  seas. 

Cape  of  storms,  thy  spectre  fled, 

See,  the  angel  Hope,  instead, 

Lights  from  heaven  upon  thine  head  ;— 

And  where  Table-mountain  stands, 
Barbarous  hordes  from  desert  sands 
Bless  the  sight  with  lifted  hands. 

St.  Helena's  dungeon-keep 
Scowls  defiance  o'er  the  deep ; 
There  a  warrior's  relics  sleep. 


A    VOYAGE    ROUND    THE    WORLD. 


Who  he  was,  and  how  he  fell, 

Europe,  Asia,  Afric  tell: 

On  that  theme  all  time  shall  dwell. 

But  henceforth,  till  nature  dies, 
These  three  simple  words  comprise 
All  the  future  :  "  Here  he  lies." 

Mammon's  plague-ships  throng  the  waves ; 
Oh  !  'twere  mercy  to  the  slaves, 
Were  the  maws  of  sharks  their  graves ! 

Not  for  all  the  gems  and  gold, 

Which  thy  streams  and  mountains  hold, 

Or  for  which  thy  sons  are  sold, — 

Land  of  negroes  !  would  I  dare 
In  this  felon-trade  to  share, 
Or  to  brand  Its  guilt  forbear. 

Hercules  !  thy  pillars  stand, 
Sentinels  of  sea  and  land  ! 
Gloud-capt  Atlas  towers  at  hand. 

Where,  when  Cato's  word  was  fate, 
Fell  the  Carthaginian  state, 
And  where  exiled  Marius  sate, — 

Mark  the  dens  of  caitiff  Moors; 
Ha  !  the  pirates  seize  their  oars  ; 
— Haste  we  from  th'  accursed  shores. 

Egypt's  hieroglyphic  realm 

Other  floods  than  Nile's  o'erwhelm, 

— Slaves  turn'd  despots  hold  the  helm. 

Judah's  cities  are  forlorn, 
Lebanon  and  Carmi'l  shorn, 
Zion  trampled  down  with  scorn. 

Greece,  thine  ancient  lamp  is  spent ; 
Thou  art  thine  own  monument; 
But  the  sepulchre  is  rent, — 


886  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

And  a  wind  is  on  the  wing, 

At  whose  breath  new  heroes  spring, 

Sages  teach,  and  poets  sing. 

Italy,  thy  beauties  shroud 
In  a  gorgeous  evening  cloud; 
Thy  refulgent  head  is  bow'd. 

Rome,  in  ruins  lovely  still, 

On  her  capitolian  hill, 

Bids  thee,  mourner,  weep  thy  fill. 

Yet  where  Roman  genius  reigns, 
Roman  blood  must  warm  the  veins ; 
— Look  well,  tyrants,  to  your  chains. 

Splendid  realm  of  old  romance, 

Spain,  thy  tower-crown'd  crest  advance, 

Grasp  the  shield,  and  couch  the  lance. 

At  the  fire-flash  of  thine  eye, 
Giant  bigotry  would  fly, 
At  thy  voice  oppression  die. 

Lusitania,  from  the  dust, 

Shake  thy  locks, — thy  cause  is  just, 

Strike  for  freedom,  strike  and  trust. 

France,  I  hurry  from  thy  shore, 
Thou  art  not  the  France  of  yore, 
Thou  art  new-born  France  no  more. 

Great  thou  wast ;  and  who  like  thee  ? 
Then  mad-drunk  with  liberty ; 
What  now  ? — neither  great  nor  free. 

Sweep  by  Holland  like  the  blast, 
One  quick  glance  on  Denmark  cast, 
Sweden,  Russia, — all  are  past. 

Elbe  nor  Weser  tempt  my  stay ; 

Germany,  beware  the  day, 

When  thy  schools  again  bear  sway 


HUMILITY. 

Now  to  thee,  to  thee  I  fly, 
Fairest  isle  beneath  the  sky, 
To  my  heart,  as  in  mine  eye. 

I  have  seen  them,  one  by  one, 
Every  shore  beneath  the  sun, 
And  my  voyage  no\v  is  done. 

While  I  bid  them  all  be  blest, 
Britain  is  my  home,  my  rest ; 
— Mine  own  land  !  I  love  thee  best. 

Scarborough,  December,  1826. 


«T 


HUMILITY. 

THE  bird  that  soars  on  highest  winjr, 
Builds  on  the  ground  her  lowly  nest ; 

And  she  that  doth  most  sweetly  sing, 
Sings  in  the  shade  when  all  things  rest : 

— In  lark  and  nightingale  we  see 

What  honour  hath  humility. 

When -Mary  chose  the  "better  part," 

She  meekly  sat  at  Jesus'  feet ; 
And  Lydia's  gently-open'd  heart 

Was  made  for  God's  own  temple  meet ; 
— Fairest  and  best  adorn'd  is  she. 
Whose  clothing  is  humility. 

The  saint  that  wears  heaven's  brightest  crown, 

In  deepest  adoration  bends  ; 
The  weight  of  glory  bows  him  down, 

Then  most  when  most  his  soul  ascends; 
— Nearest  the  throne  itself  must  be 
The  footstool  of  humility. 

1833. 


L_ 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


BIRDS. 


THE    SWALLOW. 

SWALLOW,  why  homeward  turn'd  thy  joyful  wing  ? 

— In  a  far  land  I  heard  the  voice  of  spring ; 

I  found  myself  that  moment  on  the  way  ; 

My  wings,  my  wings,  they  had  not  power  to  stay. 

SKYLARKS. 

What  hand  lets  fly  the  skylark  from  his  rest  ? 
— That  which  detains  his  mate  upon  the  nest ; 
Love  sends  him  soaring  to  the  fields  above  ; 
She  broods  below,  all  bound  with  cords  of  love. 

THE  CUCKOO. 

Why  art  thou  always  welcome,  lonely  bird  ? 

• — The  heart  grows  young  again  when  I  am  heard ; 

Nor  in  my  double  note  the  magic  lies, 

But  in  the  fields,  the  woods,  the  streams,  and  skies. 

THE    RED-BREAST. 

Familiar  warbler,  wherefore  art  thou  come? 
— To  sing  to  thee,  when  all  beside  are  dumb ; 
Pray  let  thy  little  children  drop  a  crumb. 

THE    SPARROW. 

Sparrow,  the  gun  is  levell'd,  quit  that  wall. 
— Without  the  will  of  heaven  I  cannot  fall. 

THE    RING-DOVE. 

Art  thou  the  bird  that  saw  the  waters  cease  ? 
— Yes,  and  brought  home  the  olive-leaf  of  peace ; 
Henceforth  I  haunt  the  woods  of  thickest  green, 
Pleased  to  be  often  heard,  but  seldom  seen. 


BIRDS. 
THE    NIGHTINGALE. 

Minstrel,  what  makes  thy  song  so  sad,  so  sweet  ? 
—Love,  love  ; — there  agony  and  rapture  meet ; 
O  'tis  the  dream  of  happiness,  to  feign 
Sorrow  in  joy,  and  wring  delight  from  pain ! 

THE    WATER-WAGTAIL. 

What  art  thou  made  of, — air,  or  light,  or  dew  * 
— I  have  no  time  to  tell  you,  if  I  knew ; 
My  tail, — ask  that, — perhaps  may  solve  the  matter* 
I've  miss'd  three  flies  already  by  this  chatter. 

THE    WREN. 

Wren,  canst  thou  squeeze  into  a  hole  so  small  ? 
— Ay,  with  nine  nestlings  too,  and  room  for  all ; 
Go,  compass  sea  and  land  in  search  of  bliss, 
Then  tell  me  if  you  find  a  happier  home  than  this. 

THE    THRUSH. 

Thrush,  thrush,  have  mercy  on  thy  little  bill. 
— "  I  play  to  please  myseJf,  albeit  ill  ;"* 
And  yet,  but  how  it  comes  I  cannot  tell. 
My  singing  pleases  all  the  world  as  well. 

THE    BLACKBIRD. 

Well  done! — they're  noble  notes,  distinct  and  strong; 

Yet  more  variety  might  mend  the  song. 

— Is  there  another  bird  that  chants  like  me? 

My  pipe  gives  all  the  grove  variety. 

THE    BULLFINCH. 

Bully,  what  fairy  warbles  in  thy  throat? 
— Oh  ! — for  the  freedom  of  my  own  wild  note ! 
Art  has  enthralPd  my  voice  ;  I  strive  in  vain 
To  break  the  "  linked  sweetness"  of  my  chain  ; 
Love,  joy,  rage,  grief,  ring  one  melodious  strain. 

*  Sp*n»er'i  Hlit-phi-ril'ii  Calendar.    June. 
33* 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE    GOLDFINCH. 

Live  with  me,  love  me,  pretty  goldfinch,  do ! 
— Ay,  pretty  maid,  and  be  a  slave  to  you  ; 
Wear  chains,  fire  squibs,  draw  water, — nay,  not  I, 
While  I've  a  bill  to  peck,  or  wing  to  fly. 

THE    STONE-CHAT. 

Why  art  thou  ever  flitting  to  and  fro? 

— Plunge  through  these  whins,  their  thorns  will  let  thee 

know. 

There  are  five  secrets  brooding  here  in  night, 
Which  my  good  mate  will  duly  bring  to  light; 
Meanwhile  she  sees  the  ants  around  her  throng, 
And  hears  the  grasshopper  chirp  all  day  long. 

THE    CRAY    LINNET. 

Linnet,  canst  thou  not  change  that  humble  coat  ? 
Linnet,  canst  thou  not  mellow  that  sharp  note  ? 
— If  rude  my  song,  and  mean  my  garb  appear, 
Have  you,  sir,  eyes  to  see,  or  ears  to  hear  ? 

THE    RKD    LINNET. 

Sweet  is  thy  warble,  beautiful  thy  plume  ! 
—Catch  me  and  cage  me,  then  behold  my  doom ; 
My  throat  will  fail,  my  colour  wane  away, 
And  the  red  linnet  soon  become  a  gray.* 

THE    CHAFFINCH.. 

Stand  still  a  moment ! 

— Spare  your  idle  words, 
I'm  the  perpetual  mobile  of  birds  ; 
My  days  are  running,  rippling,  twittering  streams. 
When  fast  asleep  I'm  all  afloat  in  dreams. 

THE    CANARY. 

Dost  thou  not  languish  for  thy  father-land, 
Madeira's  fragrant  woods  and  billowy  strand  ? 

*  &~>nie  naturalists  gay  that  this  actually  happens. 


BIRDS.  Ml 

— My  cage  is  father-land  enough  for  me  ; 

Your  parlour  all  the  world, — heaven,  eaith,  and  seju 

THE   TOMTIT. 

Least,  nimblest,  merriest  bird  of  Albion's  isle, 
I  cannot  look  on  thee  without  a  smile. 
— I  envy  thee  the  sight,  for  all  my  glee 
Could  never  yet  extort  a  smile  from  me  ; 
Think  what  a  tiresome  thing  my  life  must  be. 

THE    SWIFT. 

Why  ever  on  the  wing,  or  perch'd  elate  ? 
— Because  I  fell  not  from  my  first  estate ; 
This  is  my  charter  for  the  boundless  skies, 
"  Stoop  not  to  earth,  on  pain  no  more  to  rise." 

THE    KINO-FISHER. 

Why  dost  thou  hide  thy  beauty  from  the  sun  ? 
The  eye  of  man,  but  not  of  Heaven,  I  shun ; 
Beneath  the  mossy  bank,  with  alders  crown'd, 
I  build  and  brood  where  running  waters  sound  ; 
There,  there  the  halcyon  peace  may  still  be  found. 

THE    WOODLARK. 

Thy  notes  are  silenced,  and  thy  plumage  mew'd ; 
Say,  drooping  minstrel,  both  shall  be  renew'd. 
— Voice  will  return, — I  cannot  choose  but  sing; 
Yet  liberty  alone  can  plume  my  wing; 
Oh  !  give  me  that ! — I  will  not,  cannot  fly 
Within  a  cage  less  ample  than  the  sky  ; 
Then  shall  thou  hear,  as  if  an  angel  sung, 
Unseen  in  air,  heaven's  music  from  my  tongue : 
Oh  !  give  me  that ! — I  cannot  rest  at  ease 
On  meaner  perches  than  the  forest  trees  ; 
There,  in  thy  walk,  while  evening  shadows  roll, 
My  song  shall  melt  into  thine  inmost  soul ; 
But,  till  thou  h-t  thy  captive  bird  depart, 
The  sweetness  of  my  strain  shall  wring  thy  heart. 


90S  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

THE    COCK. 

Who  taught  thee,  chanticleer,  to  count  the  clock  ? 
— Nay,  who  taught  man  that  lesson  but  the  cock  ! 
Long  before  wheels  and  bells  had  learn'd  to  chime, 
I  told  the  steps  unseen,  unheard,  of  time. 

THE   JACK-DAW. 

Canst  thou  remember  that  unlucky  day, 

When  all  thy  peacock-plumes  were  pluck'd  away  ? 

—Remember  it  ? — believe  me  that  I  can, 

With  right  good  cause,  for  I  was  then  a.  man ! 

And  for  my  folly,  by  a  wise  old  law, 

Stript,  whipt,  tarr'd,  feather'd,  turn'd  into  a  daw : 

— Pray,  how  d'ye  like  my  answer  ?  Caw,  caw,  caw  ! 

THE    BAT. 

What  shall  I  call  thee, — bird,  or  beast,  or  neither  ? 
— Just  what  you  will ;  I'm  rather  both  than  either ; 
Much  like  the  season  when  I  whirl  my  flight, 
Th6  dusk  of  evening, — neither  day  nor  night. 

THE    OWL. 

Blue-eyed,  strange-voiced,  sharp-beak'd,  ill-omen'd  fowl, 
What  art  thou  ? 

— What  I  ought  to  be,  an  owl ; 
But  if  I'm  such  a  scarecrow  in  your  eye, 
You're  a  much  greater  fright  in  mine  ; — good-by  ! 

ROOKS. 

What  means  that  riot  in  your  citadel  ? 
Be  honest,  peaceable,  like  brethren  dwell. 
— How,  while  we  live  so  near  to  man,  can  life 
Be  any  thing  but  knavery,  noise,  and  strife  ? 

THE    JAY. 

Thou  hast  a  crested  poll,  a  scutcheon'd  wing, 

Fit  for  a  herald  of  the  eagle  king, 

But  such  a  voice  !  I  would  that  thou  couldst  sing ' 


BIRDS. 

— My  bill  has  tougher  work, — to  scream  for  fright, 
And  then,  when  screaming  will  not  do,  to  bite. 

THE    PEACOCK. 

Peacock  !  of  idle  beauty,  why  so  vain  ? 

— And  art  t/iou  humble,  who  hast  no  proud  train  ? 

It  is  not  vanity,  but  nature's  part, 

To  show,  by  me,  the  cunning  of  her  art. 

THE    SWAN. 

Sing  me,  fair  swan,  that  song  which  poets  dream. 
— Stand  thou  an  hundred  years  beside  this  stream, 
Then  may'st  thou  hear,  perchance,  my  latest  breath 
"  Create  a  soul  beneath  the  ribs  of  death."* 

THE    PHEASANT. 

Pheasant,  forsake  the  country,  come  to  town ; 
I'll  warrant  thee  a  place  beneath  the  crown. 
— No;  not  to  roost  upon  the  throne,  would  I 
Renounce  the  woods,  the  mountains,  and  the  sky. 

THE    RAVEN. 

Thin  is  thy  plumage,  death  is  in  thy  croak ; 
Raven,  come  down  from  that  majestic  oak. 
— When  I  was  hatch'd,  my  father  set  this  tree, 
An  acorn  ;  and  its  fall  I  hope  to  see, 
A  century  after  thou  hast  ceased  to  be. 

THE    PARROT. 

Camest  thou  from  India,  popinjay, — and  why  ? 
— To  make  thy  children  open  ear  and  eye. 
Gaze  on  my  feathers,  wonder  at  my  talk, 
And  think  'tis  almost  time  for  Poll  to  walk. 

,  THE    MAGPIE. 

Magpie,  thou  too  hnst  learn'd  by  rote  to  speak 
Words  without  meaning,  through  thy  uncouth  beak. 

*  MUton'i  Coinui. 


S94  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


— Words  have  I  leam'd  ?  and  without  meaning  too? 
No  wonder,  sir,  for  1  was  taught  by  you. 

THE    CORN-CRAKE. 

Art  thou  a  sound,  and  nothing  but  a  sound  ? 
— Go  round  the  field,  and  round  the  field,  and  round, 
You'll  find  my  voice  for  ever  changing  ground  ; 
And  while  your  ear  pursues  my  creaking  cry, 
You  look  as  if  you  heard  it  with  your  eye. 

THE    STORK. 

Stork,  why  were  human  virtues  given  to  thee  ? 
— That  human  beings  might  resemble  me; 
Kind  to  my  offspring,  to  my  partner  true, 
And  duteous  to  my  parents, — what  are  you  ? 

THE    WOODPECKER. 

Rap,  rap,  rap,  rap,  I  hear  thy  knocking  bill, 
Then  thy  strange  outcry,  when  the  woods  are  still. 
— Thus  am  I  ever  labouring  for  my  bread, 
And  thus  give  thanks  to  find  my  table  spread. 

THE    HAWK. 

A  life  at  every  meal,  rapacious  hawk ! 
Spare  helpless  innocence ! 

— Troth,  pleasant  talk ! 
Yon  swallow  snaps  more  lives  up  in  a  day 
Than  in  a  twelvemonth  I  could  take  away. 
But  hark,  most  gentle  censor,  in  your  ear, 
A  word,  a  whisper, — you — are  you  quite  clear? 
Creation's  groans,  through  ocean,  earth,  and  sky, 
Ascend  from  all  that  walk,  or  swim,  or  fly. 

VULTURES. 

Abominable  harpies,  spare  the  dead. 
— We  only  clear  the  field  which  man  has  spread ; 
On  which  should  Heaven  its  hottest  vengeance  rain  * 
You  slay  the  living,  we  but  strip  the  skin. 


BIRDS.  305 


THE    HUMMING    BIRD. 


Art  thou  a  bird,  or  bee,  or  butterfly  ? 
— Each  and  all  three. — A  bird  in  shape  am  I, 
A  bee  collecting  sweets  from  bloom  to  bloom, 
A  butterfly  in  brilliancy  of  plume. 


THE   EAGLE. 


Art  thou  the  Icing  of  birds,  proud  eagle,  say? 
— I  am  ;  my  talons  and  my  beak  bear  sway  ; 
A  greater  king  than  I,  if  thou  wouldst  be, 
Govern  thy  tongue,  but  let  thy  thoughts  be  free. 


THE    PELICAN. 

Bird  of  the  wilderness,  what  is  thy  name  ? 
— The  pelican  ! — go,  take  the  trump  of  fame, 
And  if  thou  give  the  honour  due  to  me, 
The  world  may  talk  a  little  more  of  thee. 

THE    HERON. 

Stock-still  upon  that  stone,  from  day  to  day, 

I  see  thee  watch  the  river  for  thy  prey. 

— Yes,  I'm  the  tyrant  here ;  but  when  I  rise, 

The  well-train'd  falcon  braves  me  in  the  skies  ; 

Then  comes  the  tug  of  war,  of  strength  and  skill. 

He  dies,  impaled  on  my  updarted  bill, 

Or,  powerless  in  his  grasp,  my  doom  I  meet, 

Dropt  as  a  trophy  at  his  master's  feet. 

THE    BIRD    OF    PARADISE. 

The  bird  of  paradise ! 

— That  name  I  bear. 
Though  I  am  nothing  but  a  bird  of  air: 
Thou  art  a  child  of  earth,  and  yet  to  thee, 
Lost  and  recover'd,  paradise  is  free : 
Oh !  that  such  glory  were  reserved  for  me ! 


39P  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

THE    OSTRICH. 

• 

Hast  thou  expell'd  the  mother  from  thy  breast, 
And  to  the  desert's  mercies  left  thy  nest? 
— Ah !  no,  the  mother  m  me  knows  her  part ; 
Yon  glorious  sun  is  warmer  than  my  heart ; 
And  when  to  light  he  brings  my  hungry  brood, 
He  spreads  for  them  the  wilderness  with  food. 


THE  GENTIANELLA. 

IN   LEAF. 

GKEEN  thou  art,  obscurely  green, 
Meanest  plant  among  the  mean ! 

From  the  dust  I  took  my  birth ; 
Thou,  too,  art  a  child  of  earth ; 
/  aspire  not  to  be  great ; 
Scorn  not  thou  my  low  estate ; 
Time  will  come  when  thou  shall  see 
Honour  crown  humility, 
Beauty  set  her  seal  on  me. 

IN   FLOWER. 

Blue  thou  art,  intensely  blue, 

Flower,  whence  came  thy  dazzling  hue  ? 

When  I  open'd  first  mine  eye, 
Upward  glancing  to  the  sky, 
Straightway  from  the  firmament 
Was  the  sapphire  brilliance  sent. 
Brighter  glory  wouldst  thou  share, 
Do  what  1  did, — look  up  there; 
What  I  could  not, — look  with  prayer  I 


A    LUCID    INTERVAL. 


A  LUCID  INTERVAL. 

OH  !  light  is  pleasant  to  the  eye, 

And  health  comes  rustling  on  the  gale  ; 

Clouds  are  careering  through  the  sky, 

Whose  shadows  mock  them  down  the  dale ; 

Nature  as  fresh  and  fragrant  seems 

As  I  have  met  her  in  my  dreams. 

For  I  have  heen  a  prisoner  long 
In  gloom  and  loneliness  of  mind ; 

Deaf  to  the  melody  of  song, 
To  every  form  of  beauty  blind ; 

Nor  morning  dew,  nor  evening  balm, 

Might  cool  my  cheek,  my  bosom  calm. 

But  now  the  blood,  the  blood  returns 

With  rapturous  pulses  through  my  veins ; 

My  heart  from  out  its  ashes  burns ; 

My  limbs  break  loose,  they  cast  their  chains  ; 

New  kindled  at  the  sun,  my  sight 

Tracks  to  a  point  the  eagle's  flight. 

I  long  to  climb  those  old  gray  rocks, 
Glide  with  yon  river  to  the  deep, 

Range  the  green  hills  with  herds  and  flocks, 
Free  as  the  roebuck  run  and  leap  ; 

Or  mount  the  lark's  victorious  wing, 

And  from  the  depth  of  ether  sing. 

O  earth  !  in  maiden  innocence, 
Too  early  fled  thy  golden  time ;  * 

O  earth  !  earth  !  earth  !  for  man's  offence, 
Dooin'd  to  dishonour  in  thy  prime  ; 

Of  how  much  glory  then  bereft ! 

Yet  what  a  world  of  bliss  is  left ! 

The  thorn,  harsh  emblem  of  the  curse, 
Puts  forh  a  paradise  of  flowers  ; 

34 


89S  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Labour,  man's  punishment,  is  nurse 
To  home-born  joys  at  sunset  hour; 
Plague,  earthquake,  famine,  want,  disease, 
Give  birth  to  holiest  charities. 

And  death  itself,  with  all  the  woes 
That  hasten,  yet  prolong  his  stroke, 

Death  brings  with  every  pang  repose, 
With  every  sigh  he  solves  a  yoke  ; 

Yea,  his  cold  sweats  and  moaning  strife 

Wring  out  the  bitterness  of  life. 

Life,  life  with  all  its  burdens  dear ! 

Friendship  is  sweet,  Jove  sweeter  still; 
Who  would  forego  a  smile,  a  tear, 

One  generous  hope,  one  chastening  ill? 
Home,  kindred,  country, — these  are  ties 
Might  keep  an  angel  from  the  skies. 

But  these  have  angels  never  known ; 

Unvex'd  felicity  their  lot ; 
The  sea  of  olass  before  the  throne, 

Storm,  lightning,  shipwreck,  visit  not ; 
Our  tides,  beneath  the  changing  moon, 
Are  soon  appeased,  are  troubled  soon. 

Well,  I  would  bear  what  all  have  borne, 
Live  my  few  years,  and  fill  my  place, 

O'er  old  and  young  affections  mourn, 
Rent  one  by  one  from  my  embrace, 

Till  suffering  ends,  and  I  have  done 

With  every  thing  beneath  the  sun. 

Whence,  came  I  ? — Memory  cannot  say ; 

What  am  I  ? — Knowledge  will  not  show , 
Bound  whither? — Ah  !  away,  away, 

Far  as  eternity  can  go  : — 
Thy  love  to  win,  thy  wrath  to  flee. 
O  GOD  !  thyself  iny  teacher  be 
UM. 


WORMS   AND    FLOWERS.  3W 


WORMS  AND  FLOWERS. 

YOU'RE  spinning  for  my  lady,  worm ! 

Silk  garments  for  the  fair ; 
You're  spinning  rainbows  for  a  form 

More  beautiful  than  air, 
When  air  is  bright  with  sunbeams, 

And  morning  mists  arise 
From  woody  vales  and  mountain  streams, 

To  blue  autumnal  skies. 

You're  spinning  for  my  lady,  flower ! 

You're  training  for  my  love, 
The  glory  of  her  summer-bower, 

While  skylarks  soar  above  : 
Go,  twine  her  locks  with  rose-buds, 

Or  breathe  upon  her  breast, 
While  zephyrs  curl  the  water-floods 

And  rock  the  halcyon's  nest. 

But  oh  !  there  is  another  worm 

Ere  long  will  visit  her, 
And  revel  on  her  lovely  form, 

In  the  dark  sepulchre : 
Yet  from  that  sepulchre  shall  spring 

A  flower  as  sweet  as  this  ; 
Hard  by  the  nightingale  shall  sing, 

Soft  winds  its  petals  kiss. 

Frail  emblems  of  frail  beauty,  ye  ! 

In  beauty  who  would  trust? 
Since  all  that  charms  the  eye  mu«t  be 

Consign'd  to  worms  and  dust : 
Yet  like  the  flower  that  decks  her  tomb, 

Her  spirit  shall  quit  the  sod, 
To  shine  in  amaranthine  bloom, 

Fast  by  the  throne  of  GOD. 
MM. 


«00  MISCELLANEOUS   POKMS. 


THE  RECLUSE. 

A  FOUNTAIN  issuing  into  light, 

Before  a  marble  palace,  threw 
To  heaven  its  column,  pure  and  bright, 

Returning  thence  in  showers  of  dew ; 
But  soon  an  humbler  course  it  took, 
And  glid  away  a  nameless  brook. 

Flowers  on  its  grassy  margin  sprang, 
Flies  o'er  its  eddying  surface  play'd, 

Birds  midst  the  alder-branches  sang, 

Flocks  through  the  verdant  meadows  stray'd ; 

The  weary  there  lay  down  to  rest, 

And  there  the  halcyon  built  her  nest. 

'Twas  beautiful,  to  stand  and  watch 
The  fountain's  crystal  turn  to  gems, 

And  from  the  sky  such  colours  catch, 
As  if  'twere  raining  diadems ; 

Yet  all  was  cold  and  curious  art, 

That  charm'd  the  eye,  but  miss'd  the  heart. 

Dearer  to  me  the  little  stream, 
Whose  unimprison'd  waters  run, 

Wild  as  the  changes  of  a  dream, 

By  rock  and  glen,  through  shade  and  sun ; 

Its  lovely  links  had  power  to  bind 

In  welcome  chains  my  wandering  mind. 

So  thought  I,  when  I  saw  the  face 

By  happy  portraiture  reveal'd, 
Of  one,  adorn'd  with  every  grace, 

— Her  name  and  date  from  me  conceal'd, 
But  not  her  story ; — she  had  been 
The  pride  of  many  a  splendid  scene. 


TIME. 

She  cast  her  glory  round  a  court, 

And  frolick'd  in  the  gayest  ring, 
Where  fashion's  high-born  minions  sport, 

Like  sparkling  fire-flies  on  the  wing ; 
But  thence,  when  love  had  touch'd  her  soul, 
To  nature  and  to  truth  she  stole. 

From  din,  and  pageantry,  and  strife, 

Midst  woods  and  mountains,  vales  and  plains, 

She  treads  the  paths  of  lowly  life, 
Yet  in  a  bosom-circle  reigns, 

No  fountain  scattering  diamond  showers, 

But  the  sweet  streamlet  watering  flowers. 

1829. 


TD1E: 

A   RHAPSODY. 

Bed  fugit,  interea,  digit  Irreparabile  tempnt. 

\ma.  Oeorf.  \ti.9M. 

Tis  a  mistake :  time  flies  not, 

He  only  hovers  on  the  wing : 
Once  born,  the  moment  dies  not, 

'Tis  an  immortal  thing ; 
While  all  is  change  beneath  the  sky, 
Fix'd  like  the  sun,  as  learned  sages  prove, 
Though  from  our  moving  world  he  seems  to  move. 
'Tis  time  stands  still,  and  we  that  fly. 

There  is  no  past ;  from  nature's  birth, 
Days,  months,  years,  ages,  till  the  end 

Cf  those  revolving  heavens  and  earth, 
All  to  one  centre  tend  ; 

And,  having  reach'd  it  late  or  soon, 
Converge, — as  in  a  lens,  the  rays, 

34« 


4W  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Caught  from  the  fountain-light  of  noon, 
Blend  in  a  point  that  blinds  the  gaze: 
— What  has  been  is,  what  is  shall  last ;    • 
The  present  is  the  focus  of  the  past ; 
The  future,  perishing  as  it  arrives, 
Becomes  the  present,  and  itself  survives. 

Time  is  not  progress,  but  amount ; 

One  vast  accumulating  store, 
Laid  up,  not  lost ; — we  do  not  count 

Years  gone  but  added  to  the  score 
Of  wealth  untold,  to  clime  nor  class  confined, 
Riches  to  generations  lent, 
For  ever  spending,  never  spent, 
Th'  august  inheritance  of  all  mankind. 
Of  this,  from  Adam  to  his  latest  heir, 
All  in  due  turn  their  portion  share, 
Which,  as  they  husband  or  abuse, 
Their  souls  they  win  or  lose. 

Though  history,  on  her  faded  scrolls, 
Fragments  of  facts,  and  wrecks  of  names  enrols, 
Time's  indefatigable  fingers  write 
Men's  meanest  actions  on  their  souls, 
In  lines  which  not  himself  can  blot : 

These  the  last  day  shall  bring  to  light, 
Though  through  long  centuries  forgot, 

When  hearts  and  sepulchres  are  bared  to  sight. 

Then,  having  fill'd  his  measure  up, 

Amidst  his  own  assembled  progeny, 

(All  that  have  been,  that  are,  or  yet  may  be,) 

Before  the  great  white  throne, 

To  Him  who  sits  thereon, 

Time  shall  present  th'  amalgamating  cup, 

In  which,  as  in  a  crucible, 

He  hid  the  moments  as  they  fell, 

More  precious  than  Golconda's  gems, 

Or  stars  in  angels'  diadems, 


TO    A    FRIEND. 
I 


Though  to  our  eyes  they  seem'd  to  pass      . 

Like  sands  through  his  symbolic  glass : 

But  now,  the  process  done, 

Of  millions  multiplied  by  millions,  none 

Shall  there  be  wanting, — while  by  change 

Ineffable  and  strange, 

All  shall  appear  at  once,  all  shall  appear  as  one. 

Ah  !  then  shall  each  of  Adam's  race, 

In  that  concenter'd  instant,  trace, 

Upon  the  tablet  of  his  mind, 

His  whole  existence  in  a  thought  combined, 

Thenceforth  to  part  no  more,  but  be 

Impictnred  on  his  memory  ; 

— As  in  the  image-chamber  of  the  eye, 

Seen  at  a  glance,  in  clear  perspective,  lie 

Myriads  of  forms  of  ocean,  earth,  and  sky. 

Then  shall  be  shown,  that  but  in  name 
Time  and  eternity  were  both  the  same ; 
A  point  which  life  nor  death  could  sever, 
A  moment  standing  still  for  ever. 


TO  A  FRIEND, 

WITH  A  COPY  OF  THE  FOREGOING  LUCUBRATIOX. 

MAY  she  for  whom  these  lines  are  penn'd, 
By  using  well,  make  time  her  friend ; 
Then,  whether  he  stands  still  or  flies, 
Whether  the  moment  lives  or  dies. 
She  need  not  care, — for  time  will  be 
Her  friend  to  all  eternity. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POKMS. 


THE  RETREAT. 

Written  on  finding  a  copy  of  verses  in  a  small  edifice  so  named,  at  Railbby,  in 
Lincolnshire,  tin:  seat  of  R.  C.  Bruckenbury,  to  whom  the  author  iiadea  visit 
in  the  autumn  of  1815,  after  a  severe  illness. 

A  STRANGER  sat  down  in  the  lonely  retreat ; — 

Though  kindness  had  welcomed  him  there, 
Yet  weary  with  travel,  and  fainting  with  heat, 

His  bosom  was  sadden'd  with  care : 
That  sinking  of  spirit  they  only  can  know, 

Whose  joys  are  all  chasten' d  with  fears  ; 
Whose  waters  of  comfort,  though  deeply  they  flow, 

Still  wind  through  the  valley  of  tears. 

What  ails  thee,  O  stranger !  but  open  thine  eye, 

A  paradise  bursts  on  thy  view ; 
The  sun  in  full  glory  is  marching  on  high 

Through  cloudless  and  infinite  blue  : ' 
The  woods,  in  their  wildest«luxuriance  display'd, 

Are  stretching  their  coverts  of  green, 
While  bright  from  the  depth  of  their  innermost  shade 

Yon  mirror  of  waters  is  seen. 

There  richly  reflected,  the  mansion,  the  lawn, 

The  banks  and  the  foliage  appear, 
By  nature's  own  pencil  enchantingly  drawn, 

— A  landscape  enshrined  in  a  sphere ; 
While  the  fish  in  their  element  sport  to  and  fro, 

Quick  glancing  or  gliding  at  ease, 
The  birds  seem  to  fly  in  a  concave  below, 

Through  a  vista  of  down-growing  trees. 

The  current,  unrippled  by  volatile  airs, 

Now  glitters,  now  darkens  along, 
And  yonder  o'erflowing,  incessantly  bears 

Sympuonious  accordance  to  song: 


THE    RETREAT.  404 


— The  song  of  the  ring-dove  enamour'd,  that  floats 

Like  soft-melting  murmurs  of  grief; 
—The  song  of  the  red-breast,  in  ominous  notes. 

Foretelling  the  fall  of  the  leaf: 

— The  song  of  the  bee,  in  its  serpentine  flight, 

From  blossom  to  blossom  that  roves  ; 
—The  song  of  the  wind,  in  the  silence  of  night, 

When  it  wakens  or  hushes  the  groves : 
—Thus  sweet  in  the  chorus  of  rapture  and  love, 

Which  God  in  his  temple  attends, 
With  the  song  of  all  nature  beneath  and  above, 

The  voice  of  these  waters  ascends. 

The  beauty,  the  music,  the  bliss  of  that  scene, 

With  ravishing  sympathy  stole 
Through  the  stranger's  lorn  bosom,  illumined  his  mien, 

And  soothed  and  exalted  his  soul : 
Cold,  gloomy  forebodings  then  vanish'd  away, 

His  terrors  to  ecstasies  turn, 
As  the  vapours  of  night,  at  the  dawning  of  day, 

With  splendour  and  loveliness  burn. 

The  stranger  reposed  in  the  lonely  retreat, 

Now  smiling  at  phantoms  gone  by, 
When,  lo !  a  new  welcome,  in  numbers  most  sweet. 

Saluted  his  ear  through  his  eye  : 
It  came  to  his  eye,  but  it  went  to  his  soul ; 

— Some  muse,  as  she  wander' d  that  way, 
Had  dropt  from  her  bosom  a  mystical  scroll, 

Whose  secrets  I  dare  not  betray. 

Strange  tones,  we  are  told,  the  pale  mariner  hears, 

When  the  mermaids  ascend  from  their  caves, 
And  sing,  where  the  moon's  lengthen'd  image  appears 

A  column  of  gold  on  th»j  vaves ; 
— And  wild  notes  of  wonder  the  shepherd  entrance, 

Who  dreaming  beholds  in  the  vale, 
By  torchlight  of  glow-worms,  the  fairies  that  dance 

To  minstrelsy  piped  in  the  gale. 


406  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Not  less  to  that  stranger,  mysteriously  brought, 

With  harmony  deep  and  refined, 
In  language  of  feeling  and  music  of  thought, 

Those  numbers  were  heard  in  his  mind : 
Then  quick  beat  the  pulse  which  had  languidly  crept, 

And  sent  through  his  veins  a  spring-tide  ; 
It  seem'd  as  the  harp  of  a  seraph  were  swept 

By  a  spirit  that  sung  at  his  side. 

All  ceased  in  a  moment,  and  nothing  was  heard, 

And  nothing  was  seen,  through  the  wood, 
But  the  twittering  cry  of  a  fugitive  bird, 

Arid  the  sunset  that  blazed  on  the  flood  : 
He  rose,  for  the  shadows  of  evening  grew  long, 

And  narrow  the  glimpses  between ; 
The  owl  in  his  ambush  was  ^vhooping  his  song, 

And  the  gossamer  glanced  on  the  green. 

Oft  pausing,  and  hearkening,  and  turning  his  eye, 

He  left  the  sequester'd  retreat ; 
As  the  stars  in  succession  awoke  through  the  sky, 

And  the  moon  of  the  harvest  shone  sweet ; 
So  pure  was  her  lustre,  so  lovely  and  bright, 

So  soft  on  the  landscape  it  lay, 
The  shadows  appear'd  but  the  slumber  of  light, 

And  the  night-scene  a  dream  of  tho  day. 

He  walk'd  to  the  mansion, — though  silent  his  tongue, 

And  his  heart  with  its  fulness  opprest, 
His  spirit  within  him  melodiously  sung 

The  feelings  that  throbb'd  in  his  breast : 
— "  Oh  !  ye,  who  inherit  this  privileged  spot ! 

All  blooming  like  Eden  of  yore, 
What  earth  can  afford  is  already  your  lot, 

With  the  promise  of  •  life  evermore.' 

"  Here,  oft  as  to  strangers  your  table  is  spread, 

May  angels  sit  down  at  your  board  ; 
Here,  oft  as  the  poor  by  your  bounty  are  fed, 

Be  charity  shown  to  your  Lord ; 


THE    LILY. 


Thus  walking  with  GOD  in  your  paradise  here, 

In  humble  communion  of  love, 
At  length  may  your  spirits,  when  He  shall  appear, 

Be  caught  up  to  glory  above." 


THE  LILY. 

TO    A    /OUNG   LADY,    E.    P. 

FLOWER  of  light,  forget  thy  birth, 
Daughter  of  the  sordid  earth, 
Lift  the  beauty  of  thine  eye 
To  the  blue  ethereal  sky  ! 

While  thy  graceful  buds  unfold 
Silver  petals  starr'd  with  gold, 
Let  the  bee  among  thy  bells 
Rifle  their  ambrosial  cells, 
And  the  nimble-pi  nion'd  air 
Waft  thy  breath  to  heaven  like  prayer. 
Cloud  and  sun  alternate  shed 
Gloom  or  glory  round  thine  head; 
Morn  impearl  thy  leaves  with  dews, 
Evening  lend  them  rosy  hues, 
Noon  with  snow-white  splendour  blest. 
Night  with  glow-worm  jewels  dress. 
— Thus  fulfil  thy  summer-day, 
Spring,  and  flourish,  and  decay ; 
Live  a  life  of  fragrance, — then 
Disappear, — to  rise  again, 
When  thy  sisters  of  the  vale 
Welcome  back  the  nightingale. 

So  may  she,  whose  name  I  write, 
Be  herself  a  flower  of  light, 
Live  a  life  of  innocence, 
Die  to  be  transplanted  hence 
To  that  garden  in  the  skies, 
Where  the  lily  never  dies. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


THE  SKY-LARK. 
(ADDRESSED  TO  A  FRIEND.) 

On  hearing  one  singing  at  daybreak,  during  a  sharp  frost,  on  the  17th  of  Februa- 
ry, 1832,  while  the  author  was  on  travel,  between  Bath  and  Stroud. 

O  WARN  away  the  gloomy  night, 
With  music  make  the  welkin  ring, 
Bird  of  the  dawn  ! — On  joyful  wing, 

Soar  through  thine  element  of  light, 

Till  naught  in  heaven  mine  eye  can  see, 
Except  the  morning  star  and  thee. 

O  welcome  in  the  cheerful  day ! 

Through  rosy  clouds  the  shades  retire, 
The  sun  hath  touch'd  thy  plumes  with  fire, 

And  girt  thee  with  a  golden  ray  : 

Now  shape  and  voice  are  vanish'd  quite, 
Nor  eye  nor  ear  can  track  thy  flight. 

Could  I  translate  thy  strains,  and  give 
Words  to  thy  notes  in  human  tongue, 
The  sweetest  lay  that  e'er  I  sung, 

The  lay  that  would  the  longest  live, 
I  might  record  upon  this  page, 
And  sing  thy  song  from  age  to  age. 

But  speech  of  mine  can  ne'er  reveal 

Secrets  so  freely  told  above, 

Yet  is  their  burden  joy  and  love, 
And  all  the  bliss  a  bird  can  feel, 

Whose  wing  in  heaven  to  earth  is  bound, 

Whose  home  and  heart  are  on  the  ground. 

Unlike  the  lark  be  thou,  my  friend  ! 

No  downward  cares  thy  thoughts  engage, 


THE   FIXED    STARS. 


But  in  thine  house  of  pilgrimage, 
Though  from  the  ground  thy  songs  ascend, 
Still  be  their  burden  joy  and  love  : 
— Heaven  is  thy  home,  thy  heart  above. 


THE  FIXED  STARS. 

KEION  in  your  heaven,  ye  stars  of  light ! 

Beyond  this  troubled  scene  ; 
With  you,  fair  orbs  !  there  is  no  night, 

Eternally  serene, 

Each  casts  around  its  tranquil  way, 
The  radiance  of  its  own  clear  day ; 
Yet  not  unborrow'd. — What  are  ye  ? 
Mirrors  of  Deity : 
My  soul,  in  your  reflective  rays, 
Him  whom  no  eye  hath  seen  surveys, 
As  I  behold  (himself  too  bright  for  view) 
The  sun  in  every  drop  of  dew. 

The  gloom  that  brings,  through  evening  skies. 

Your  beauty  from  the  deep  ; 
The  clouds  that  hide  you  from  our  eyes ; 

The  storms  that  seem  to  sweep 
Your  scatter'd  train,  like  vessels  tost 
On  ocean's  waves,  now  seen,  now  lost ; 
— Belong  to  our  inferior  ball, 
Ye  shine  above  them  all : 
Your  splendour  noon  eclipses  net, 
Nor  night  reveals,  nor  vapours  blot ; 
O'er  us,  not  you,  these  changes  come  and  pass  j 
Ye  navigate  a  sea  of  glass. 

35 


410  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Thus,  on  their  hyaline  above, 

In  constellations  stand 
The  tribes  redeem'd  by  sovereign  love : 

— Crown'd  and  with  harp  in  hand, 
They  sing  before  the  great  I  AM, 
The  song  of  Moses  and  the  Lamb ; 
Returning  in  perpetual  streams 
His  own  all-lightening  beams. 
Theirs  be  thy  portion,  O  my  soul ! 
That  while  heaven's  years  self-circling  roll, 
I  may,  among  the  ransom'd — they  in  me, 
And  I  in  them, — GOD'S  image  see. 

1634. 


A  CRY  FROM  SOUTH  AFRICA; 

Oil  building  a  Chapel  at  Cape  Town,  for  the  Negro  Slaves  of  the  colony,  in  11:28. 

AFRIC,  from  her  remotest  strand, 

Lifts  to  high  heaven  one  fetter'd  hand, 

And  to  the  utmost  of  her  chain 

Stretches  the  other  o'er  the  main  : 

Then,  kneeling  'midst  ten  thousand  slaves, 

Utters  a  cry  across  the  waves, 

Of  power  to  reach  to  either  pole, 

And  pierce,  like  conscience,  through  the  soul, 

Though  dreary,  faint,  and  low  the  sound, 

Like  life-blood  gurgling  from  a  wound, 

As  if  her  heart,  before  it  broke, 

Had  found  a  human  tongue,  and  spoke. 

"  Britain  !  not  now  I  ask  of  thee 
Freedom,  the  right  of  bond  and  free ; 
Let  Mammon  hold,  while  Mammon  can, 
The  bones  and  blood  of  living  man; 
Let  tyrants  scorn,  while  tyrants  dare, 
The  fchrieks  and  writhings  of  despair ; 


A    CRY    FROM    SOUTH    AFRICA.  «1 

An  end  will  come — it  will  not  wait, 
Bands,  yokes,  and  scourges  have  their  date, 
Slavery  itself  must  pass  away, 
And  be  a  tale  of  yesterday. 

But  now  I  urge  a  dearer  claim, 
And  urge  it  by  a  mightier  name : 
Hope  of  the  world  !  on  thee  I  call, 
By  the  great  Father  of  us  all, 
By  the  Redeemer  of  our  race, 
And  by  the  Spirit  of  all  grace, 
Turn  not,  Britannia,  from  my  plea; 
— So  help  thee  GOD  as  thou  help'st  me  ! 
Mine  outcast  children  come  to  light 
From  darkness,  and  go  down  in  night; 
— A  night  of  more  mysterious  gloom 
Than  that  which  wrapt  them  in  the  womb: 
Oh !  that  the  womb  had  been  the  gravo 
Of  every  being  born  a  slave  ! 
Oh !  that  the  grave  itself  might  close 
The  slave's  unutterable  woes  ! 
But  what  beyond  that  gulf  may  be, 
What  portion  in  eternity, 
For  those  who  live  to  curse  their  breath, 
And  die  without  a  hope  in  death, 
I  know  not,  and  1  dare  not  think  ; 
Yet,  while  I  shudder  o'er  the  brink 
Of  that  unfathomable  deep, 
Where  wrath  lies  chain'd  and  judgments  sleep, 
To  thee,  thou  paradise  of  isles  ! 
Where  mercy  in  full  glory  smiles ; 
Eden  of  lands  !  o'er  all  the  rest 
By  blessing  others  doubly  blest, 
— To  thee  I  lift  my  weeping  eye; 
Send  me  the  Gospel  or  I  die ; 
The  word  of  Christ's  salvation  give, 
That  1  may  hear  his  voice  and  live. 


41t  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


SPEED  THE  PROW. 

NOT  the  ship  that  swiftest  saileth, 
But  which  longest  holds  her  way 

Onward,  onward,  never  faileth, 
Storm  and  calm,  to  win  the  day ; 

Earliest  she  the  haven  gains, 

Which  the  hardest  stress  sustains. 

O'er  life's  ocean,  wide  and  pathless, 
Thus  would  I  with  patience  steer ; 

No  vain  hope  of  journeying  scathless, 
No  proud  boast  to  face  down  fear ; 

Dark  or  bright  his  Providence, 

Trust  in  GOD  be  my  defence. 

Time  there  was, — 'tis  so  no  longer, — 

When  I  crowded  every  sail, 
Battled  with  the  waves,  and  stronger 

Grew,  as  stronger  grew  the  gale  ; 
But  my  strength  sunk  with  the  wind, 
And  the  sea  lay  dead  behind. 

There  my  bark  had  founder'd  surely, 

But  a  Power  invisible 
Breathed  upon  me  ; — then  securely, 

Borne  along  the  gradual  swell, 
Helm,  and  shrouds,  and  heart  renew'd, 
I  my  humbler  course  pursued. 

Now,  though  evening  shadows  blacken, 
And  no  star  comes  through  the  gloom, 

On  I  move,  nor  will  I  slacken 

Sail,  though  verging  towards  the  tomb; 

Bright  beyond, — on  heaven's  high  strand, 

Lo,  the  lighthouse  ! — land,  land,  land  I 


THE    CHOLERA    MOUNT.  411 

Cloud  and  sunshine,  wind  and  weather, 

Sense  and  sight  are  fleeing  fast ; 
Time  and  tide  must  fail  together, 

Life  and  death  will  soon  be  past ; 
But  where  day's  last  spark  declines, 
Glory  everlasting  shines. 

1834.  ' 


THE  CHOLERA  MOUNT. 

LINES  ON   THE   BURYINO-PLACE   FOR    PATIENTS    WHO    DIED    OF   CHOLERA 
JIOKLb'S;    A   PLEASANT   EMINENCE   IN    SHEFFIELD    PARK. 

Written  dunns  the  prevalence  of  the  disease  in  1832,  and  while  great  terror  of 
infection  from  it  wag  experienced  throughout  the  kingdom,  sanctioned  by  legis- 
lative authority,  requiring  the  separate  interment  of  its  unfortunate  victims. 

IN  death,  divided  from  their  dearest  kin, 
This  is  "  a  field  to  bury  strangers  in  :" 
Fragments,  from  families  untimely  reft, 
Like  spoils  in  flight,  or  limbs  in  battle  reft, 
Lie  here ; — a  sad  community,  whose  bones 
Might  feel,  methinks,  a  pang  to  quicken  stones ; 
While  from  beneath  my  feet  they  seem  to  cry, 
"  Oh  !  is  it  naught  to  you,  ye  passers  by  ! 
When  from  its  earthly  house  the  spirit  fled, 
Our  dust  might  not  be  '  free  among  the  dead  ?* 
Ah  !  why  were  we  to  this  Siberia  sent, 
Doom'd  in  the  grave  itself  to  banishment?" 

Shuddering  humanity  asks,  "  Who  are  these? 
And  what  their  crime  ?" — They  fell  by  one  disease! 
By  the  blue  pest,  whose  gripe  no  art  can  shun, 
No  force  unwrench,  out-singled  one  by  one  ; 
When,  like  a  monstrous  birth,  the  womb  of  fate 
Bore  a  new  death  of  unrecorded  date, 
And  doubtful  name. — Far  east  the  fiend  begun 
Its  course  ;  thence  round  the  world  pursued  the  sun, 

35* 


414  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


The  ghosts  of  millions  following  at  its  back, 
Whose  desecrated  graves  betruy'd  their  track. 
On  Albion's  shores  unseen  the  invader  slept ; 
Secret  and  swift  through  field  and  city  swept ; 
At  noon,  at  midnight,  seized  the  weak,  the  strong, 
Asleep,  awake,  alone,  amid  the  throng; 
Kili'd  like  a  murderer  ;  fix'd  its  icy  hold, 
And  wrung  out  life  with  agony  of  cold  ; 
Nor  stay'd  its  vengeance  where  it  crush'd  the  prey, 
But  set  a  mark,  like  Cain's,  upon  their  clay, 
And  this  tremendous  seal  impress'd  on  all, 
"Bury  me  out  of  sight  and  out  of  call." 

Wherefore  no  filial  foot  this  turf  may  tread, 
No  kneeling  mother  kiss  her  baby's  bed  ; 
No  maiden  unespoused,  with  widow'd  sighs, 
Seek  her  soul's  treasure  where  her  true  love  lies : 
—All  stand  aloof,  and  eye  this  mount  from  far, 
As  panic-stricken  crowds  some  baleful  star, 
Strange  to  the  heavens,  that,  with  bewilder'd  light, 
Like  a  lost  spirit  wanders  through  the  night. 

Yet  many  a  mourner  weeps  her  fallen  state, 
In  many  a  home  by  these  left  desolate, 
Once  warm  with  love,  and  radiant  with  the  smiles 
Of  woman,  watching  infants  at  their  wiles, 
Whose  eye  of  thought,  when  now  they  throng  her  knees, 
Pictures  far  other  scene  than  that  she  sees, 
For  one  is  wanting, — one,  for  whose  dear  sake, 
Her  heart  for  very  tenderness  would  ache, 
As  now  with  anguish, — doubled  when  she  spies 
In  this  his  lineaments,  in  that  his  eyes, 
In  each  his  image  with  her  own  commix'd, 
And  there,  at  least,  through  life  their  union  fix'd. 

Humanity  again  asks,  "  Who  are  these  ? 
And  what  their  crime  ?" — They  fell  by  one  disease; 
Not  by  the  Proteus-maladies  that  strike 
Man  into  nothingness,  not  twice  alike  ; 
But  when  they  knock'd  for  entrance  at  the  tornt^ 
Their  fathers'  bones  refused  to  make  them  room ; 


THE    CHOLERA    MOUNT.  41* 

Recoiling  Nature  from  their  presence  fled, 

As  though  a  thunderbolt  had  smote  them  dead  ; 

Their  cries  pursued  her  with  the  thrilling  plea, 

"Give  us  a  little  earth  for  charity  !" 

She  linger'd,  listen'd,  all  her  bosom  yearn'd, 

Through  every  vein  the  mother's  pulse  return'd ; 

Then,  as  she  halted  on  this  hill,  she  threw 

Her  mantle  wide,  and  loose  her  tresses  flew  : 

" Live  '."  to  the  slain,  she  cried,  "My  children,  live ! 

This  for  an  heritage  to  you  I  give  ; 

Had  death  consumed  you  by  the  common  lot, 

You  with  the  multitude  had  been  forgot, 

Now  through  an  age  of  ages  shall  ye  not." 

Thus  Nature  spake,  and  as  her  echo,  I 
Take  up  her  parable,  and  prophesy : 
— Here,  as  from  spring  to  spring  the  swallows  pass. 
Perennial  daisies  shall  adorn  the  grass ; 
Here  the  shrill  sky-lark  build  her  annual  nest, 
And  sing  in  heaven  while  you  serenely  rest : 
On  trembling  dew-drops  morn's  first  glance  shall  shine 
Eve's  latest  beams  on  this  fair  bank  decline, 
And  oft  the  rainbow  steal  through  light  and  gloom. 
To  throw  its  sudden  arch  across  your  tomb ; 
On  you  the  moon  her  sweetest  influence  shower, 
And  every  planet  bless  you  in  its  hour. 

With  statelier  honours  still,  in  time's  slow  round, 
Shall  this  sepulchral  eminence  be  crown'd, 
Where  generations  long  to  come  shall  hail 
The  growth  of  centuries  waving  in  the  gale, 
A  forest  landmark  on  the  mountain's  head, 
Standing  betwixt  the  living  and  the  dead  ; 
Nor  while  your  language  lasts,  shall  traveller  cease 
To  say,  at  sight  of  your  memorial,  "  Pence!" 
Your  voice  of  silence  answering  from  the  sod, 
••  Whoe'er  I/ion  art, prepare  to  mtet  Iky  God!"* 
urn. 


416  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


TO  MARY. 

MARY  ! — it  is  a  lovely  name, 

Thrice  honour' d  in  the  rolls  of  fame, 

Not  for  the  blazonry  of  birth, 

Nor  honours  springing  from  the  earth, 

But  what  evangelists  have  told 

Of  three,  who  bare  that  name  of  old  : 

— Mary,  the  mother  of  our  Lord, 

Mary,  who  sat  to  hear  his  word, 

And  Mary  Magdalen,  to  whom. 

Christ  came,  while  weeping  o'er  his  tomb ; 

These  to  that  humble  name  supply 

A  glory  which  can  never  die. 

Mary  !  my  prayer  for  you  shall  be, 
— May  you  resemble  all  the  three 
In  faith,  and  hope,  and  charity. 


SHORT-HAND. 

STANZAS   ADDRESSED   TO   E.    P. 

THESE  lines  and  dots  are  locks  and  keys, 
In  narrow  space  to  treasure  thought, 

Whose  precious  hoards,  whene'er  you  please, 
Are  thus  to  light  from  darkness  brought. 

On  the  small  tablet  of  your  heart, 
By  heaven's  own  finger  be  engraved, 

Within,  without,  through  every  part, 

The  "  words  whereby  you  must  be  saved." 

There  the  bright  pages  of  GOD'S  book, 

In  secret  characters  may  lie, 
Where  you  alone  have  power  to  look, 

While  hid  from  man  and  angel's  eye. 


TO   GEORGE   BENNET,    ESQ.  417 

Could  nature's  mysteries  all  be  found, 

Unbosom'd,  where  the  billows  roll, 
In  flowers  embroider'd  o'er  the  ground, 

By  stars  emblazon'd  round  the  pole  ;— 

Less  were  the  sum  of  truth  reveal'd, 

Through  heaven,  and  earth,  and  sea  express'd, 

Than  would  be*  written,  sign'd,  and  seal'd, 
Once  and  for  ever,  in  your  breast. 

1828.  * 


TO    MY   FRIEND, 

GEORGE  BENNET,  ESQ., 

OF   SHEFFIELD, 

On  his  intended  visit  to  Tahiti,  and  other  Islands  of  the  South  Sea,  where 
Christianity  had  been  recently  established. 

Go,  take  the  wings  of  morn, 

And  fly  beyond  the  utmost  sea ; 
Thou  shalt  not  feel  thyself  forlorn, 

Thy  GOD  is  still  with  thee ; 
And  where  his  Spirit  bids  thee  dwell, 
There,  and  there  only,  thou  art  well. 

Forsake  thy  father-land, 

Kindred,  and  friends,  and  pleasant  home  ; 
O'er  many  a  rude,  barbarian  strand, 

In  exile  though  thou  roam, 
Walk  there  with  God,  and  thou  shalt  find 
Double  for  all  thy  faith  resign'd. 

Launch  boldly  on  the  surge, 

And  in  a  light  and  fragile  bark, 
Thy  path  through  flood  and  tempest  urge, 

Like  Noah  in  the  ark. 


418  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Then  tread  like  him  a  new  world's  shore, 
Thine  altar  build,  and  GOD  adore. 

Leave  our  Jerusalem, 

JEHOVAH'S  temple  and  his  rest ; 

Go  where  no  Sabbath  rose  on  them, 
Whom  pagan  gloom  oppress'd, 

Till  bright,  though  late,  around' their  isles, 

The  Gospel-dawn  awoke  in  smiles. 

Amidst  that  dawn,  from  far, 

Be  thine  expected  presence  shown ; 

Rise  on  them  like  the  morning  star 
In  glory  not  thine  own, 

And  tell  them,  while  they  hail  the  sight, 

WHio  turn'd  thy  darkness  into  light. 

Point  where  his  hovering  rays 
Already  gild  their  ocean's  brim, 

Erelong  o'er  heaven  and  earth  to  blaze ; 
Direct  all  eyes  to  Him, 

— The  sun  of  righteousness,  who  bring:? 

Mercy  and  healing  on  his  wings. 

Nor  thou  disdain  to  teach 

To  savage  hordes  celestial  truth, 

To  infant-tongues  thy  mother's  speech 
Ennobling  arts  to  youth, 

Till  warriors  fling  their  arms  aside, 

O'er  bloodless  fields  the  plough  to  guide. 

Train  them,  by  patient  toil, 

To  rule  the  waves,  subdue  the  ground, 
Enrich  themselves  with  nature's  spoil, 

With  harvest-trophies  crown'd, 
Tin  coril-reefs,  midst  desert  seas, 
Become  the  new  Hesperides. 

Thus  then  in  peace  depart, 

And  angels  guide  thy  footsteps : — No ! 


TO    GEORGE    BENNET,    ESQ.  41* 

There  is  a  feeling  in  the  heart, 

That  will  not  let  thee  go : 
Yet  go, — thy  spirit  stays  with  me ; 
Yet  go, — my  spirit  goes  with  thee. 

Though  the  broad  world,  between 

Our  feet,  conglobe  its  solid  mass  ; 
Though  lands  and  oceans  intervene, 

Which  I  must  never  pass  ; 
Though  day  and  night  to  thee  be  changed,  • 

Seasons  reversed,  and  climes  estranged  ; 

Yet  one  in  soul, — and  one 

In  faith,  and  hope,  and  purpose  yet, 

GOD'S  witness  in  the  heavens,  yon  sun, 
Forbid  thee  to  forget 

Those  from  whose  eyes  his  orb  retires, 

When  thine  his  morning  beauty  fires  ! 

When  tropic  gloom  returns, 

Mark  what  new  stars  their  vigils  keep, 

How  glares  the  wolf, — the  phoenix  burns, 
And  on  a  stormless  deep, 

The  ship  of  heaven, — the  patriarch's  dove, 

The  emblem  of  redeeming  love.* 

While  these  enchant  thine  eye,. 

Oh !  think  how  often  we  have  walk'd, 
Grazed  on  the  glories  of  our  sky, 

Of  higher  glories  talk'd, 
Till  our  hearts  caught  a  kindling  ray, 
And  burn'd  within  us  by  the  way. 

Those  hours,  those  walks  are  past, 

We  part ; — and  ne'er  again  may  meet: 

Why  are  the  joys  that  will  not  last 
So  perishingly  sweet  ? 

Farewell, — we  surely  meet  again 

In  life  or  death  ; — farewell  till  then. 

ShrffirM,  Marck  10,  1831. 
*  The  cro««,  the  dove,  the  phcenlx,  t'ie  wolf,  am  tnutl1*  /i  cnnilcllatioiu. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


ONE  WARNING  MORE. 

""ITTEN    FOR   DISTRIBUTION    ON   A   RACE    COURSE,    \824. 

One  fervent,  futhfnl  warning  more 
To  him  who  heeded  none  before. 

THE  fly  around  the  candle  wheels, 

Enjoys  the  sport,  and  gaily  sings, 
*  Till  nearer,  nearer  borne,  he  feels 

The  flame  like  lightning  singe  his  wings ; 
Then  weltering  in  the  gulf  below  he  lies, 
And  limb  by  limb,  scorch'd  miserably,  dies. 

From  bough  to  bough  the  wild  bird  hops, 
Where  late  he  caroll'd  blithe  and  free, 

But  downward,  downward,  now  he  drops, 
Faint,  fluttering,  helpless  from  the  tree, 

Where,  stretch'd  below,  with  eye  of  deadly  ray, 

The  eager  rattle-snake  expects  his  prey. 

Thou,  child  of  pleasure,  art  the  fly, 
Drawn  by  the  taper's  dazzling  glare  ; 

Thou  art  the  bird  that  meets  an  eye, 
Alluring  to  the  serpent's  snare  ; 

Oh !  stay : — is  reason  lost  ? — is  conscience  dumb  ? 

Be  wise,  be  warn'd,  escape  the  wrath  to  come. 

Not  swifter  o'er  the  level  course, 

The  racer  glances  to  the  goal, 
Than  thou,  with  blind  and  headlong  force 

Art  running  on — to  lose  thy  soul ; 
Then,  though  the  world  were  won,  how  dear  the  cost ! 
Can  the  whole  world  avail  a  spirit  lost  ? 

Death,  on  his  pale  horse,  following  fast, 
Gains  on  thy  speed, — with  hell  behind ; 

Fool !  all  thy  yesterdays  are  past, 
To-morrow  thou  wilt  never  find  ; 

To-day  is  hastening  to  eternity  ; 

"This night  thy  soul  shall  be  required  of  thee." 


A   RIDDLE.  <St 


A  RIDDLE. 

ADDRESSED  TO  E.  R^  1*10. 

I  KNOW  not  who  these  lines  may  see ; 
I  know  not  what  these  lines  will  be ; 
But,  since  a  word  in  season  sent, 
As  from  a  bow  at  hazard  bent, 
May  reach  a  roving  eye,  or  dart 
Conviction  to  a  careless  heart, 
Oh  !  that  an  arrow  I  could  find 
In  the  small  quiver  of  my  mind, 
Which,  with  unerring  aim,  should  strike 
Each,  who  encounters  it,  alike  ! 

Reader !  attention  ! — I  will  spring 
A  wondrous  thought ;  'tis  on  the  wing ; 
Guard  well  your  heart,  you  guard  in  vain, 
The  wound  is  made,  yet  gives  no  pain  ; 
Surprise  may  make  your  cheek  to  glow, 
But,  courage  !  none  but  you  can  know  ; 
The  thought,  awaken'd  by  my  spell, 
Is  more  than  I  myself  can  tell. 
How  ? — search  the  chamber  of  your  breast, 
And  think  of  that  which  you  love  best ! 
I've  raised  the  spirit,  but  cannot  lay  it, 
Your  secret  found,  but  can't  betray  it. 
So,  ask  yourself,—"  What  will  this  be, 
A  thousand  ages  hence,  to  me  T" 
And  if  it  will  not  stand  the  fire, 
In  which  all  nature  shall  expire, 
Think, — ere  these  rhymes  aside  are  cast,- 
As  though  the  thought  might  be  your  last, 
44  Where  shall  I  find  below,  above, 
An  object  worthy  of  my  love  ?" 

Now  hearken,  and  forget  it  never, — 
Love  that  which  you  may  love  for  ever 

M 


««  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE  TOMBS  OF  THE  FATHERS. 

The  Jews  occasionally  hold  a  "  Solemn  Assembly"  in  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat, 
the  ancient  burial-place  of  Jerusalem.  They  are  obliged  to  pay  a  heavy  tax  for 
the  privilege  of  thus  mourning,  in  stillness,  at  the  sepulchres  of  their  ancestor*. 

PART  I. 

IN  Babylon  they  sat  and  wept, 

Down  by  the  river's  willowy  side ; 
And  when  the  breeze  their  harp-string  swept, 

The  strings  of  breaking  hearts  replied : 

— A  deeper  sorrow  now  they  hide ; 
No  Cyrus  comes  to  set  them  free 
From  ages  of  captivity. 

All  lands  .are  Babylons  to  them, 

Exiles  and  fugitives  they  roam; 
What  is  their  own  Jerusalem  ? 

— The  place  where  they  are  least  at  home ! 

Yet  hither  from  all  climes  they  come ; 
And  pay  their  gold,  for  leave  to  shed 
Tears  o'er  the  generations  fled. 

Around,  the  eternal  mountains  stand, 
With  Hinnom's  darkling  vale  between; 

Old  Jordan  wanders  through  the  land,  . 

Blue  Carmel's  sea-ward  crest  is  seen, 
And  Lebanon  yet  sternly  green 

Throws,  when  the  evening  sun  declines, 

Its  cedar-shades,  in  lengthening  lines. 

But,  ah  !  for  ever  vanish'd  hence, 
The  temple  of  the  living  GOD, 

Once  Zion's  glory  and  defence! 

— Now  mourn  beneath  the  oppressor's  rod, 
The  fields  which  faithful  Abraham  trod, 

Where  Isaac  walk'd  by  twilight  glerjn, 

And  heaven  came  down  on  Jacob's  dream. 


THE   TOMBS   OF    THE    FATHERS. 


For  ever  mingled  with  the  soil, 

Those  armies  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 

That  conquer'd  Canaan,  shared  the  spoil, 

Quell'd  Moab's  pride,  storm'd  Midian's  posts, 
Spread  paleness  through  Philistia's  coasts, 

And  taught  the  foes,  whose  idols  fell, 

"  There  is  a  God  in  Israel." 

Now,  David's  tabernacle  gone, 

What  mighty  builder  shall  restore  ? 

The  golden  throne  of  Solomon, 
And  ivory  palace  are  no  more ; 
The  Psalmist's  song,  the  Preacher's  lore. 

Of  all  they  wrought,  alone  remain 

Unperish'd  trophies  of  their  reign. 

Holy  and  beautiful  of  old, 

Was  Zion  'midst  her  princely  bowers; 
Besiegers  trembled  to  behold 

Bulwarks  that  set  at  naught  their  powers ; 

— Swept  from  the  earth  are  all  her  towers ; 
Nor  is  there — so  was  she  bereft — 
One  stone  upon  another  left. 

The  very  site  whereon  she  stood, 

In  vain  the  eye,  the  foot  would  trace ; 

Vengeance,  for  saints'  and  martyrs'  blood, 
Her  walls  did  utterly  deface  ; 
Dungeons  and  dens  usurp  their  place ; 

The  cross  and  crescent  shine  afar, 

But  where  is  Jacob's  natal  star  t 

PART  II. 

Still  inexterminable,  still 

Devoted  to  their  mother-land, 

Her  offspring  haunt  the  temple-hill, 
Amidst  her  desecration  stand, 
And  bite  the  lip,  and  clench  the  hand ; 


434  MISCELLANEOUS   PuEMS. 

— To-day  in  that  lone  vale  they  weep, 
Where  patriarchs,  kings,  and  prophets  sleep. 

Ha !  what  a  spectacle  of  wo  ! 

In  groups  they  settle  on  the  ground; 
Men,  women,  children  gathering  slow, 

Sink  down  in  reverie  profound ; 

There  is  no  voice,  no  speech,  no  sound, 
But  through  the  shuddering  frame  is  thrown 
The  heart's  unutterable  groan. 

Entranced  they  sit,  nor  seem  to  breathe, 
Themselves  like  spectres  from  the  dead ; 

Where  shrined  in  rocks  above,  beneath, 
With  clods  along  the  valley  spread, 
Their  ancestors,  each  on  his  bed, 

Repose,  till  at  the  judgment-day, 

Death  and  the  grave  give  up  their  prey. 

Before  their  eyes,  as  in  a  glass, 

— Their  eyes  that  gaze  on  vacancy — 

Pageants  of  ancient  grandeur  pass, 
But,  "  Ichabod"  on  all  they  see 
Brands  Israel's  foul  apostasy ; 

— Then  last  and  worst,  and  crowning  all 

Their  crimes  and  sufferings — Salem's  fall. 

Nor  breeze,  nor  bird,  nor  palm-tree  stirs, 
Kedron's  unwater'd  brook  is  dumb; 

But  through  the  glen  of  sepulchres 
Is  heard  the  city's  fervid  hum, 
Voices  of  dogs  and  children  come : 

Till  loud  and  long  the  medzin's*  cry, 

From  Omar's  mosque,  peals  round  the  sky. 

Blight  through  their  veins  those  accents  send ; 
In  agony  of  mute  despair, 


»  More  properly  "  muedhin's,"  the  person  whose  business  it  is  to  call  the  Mo- 
hammedans to  prayer ;  no  bells  being  used  by  them  for  lhat  purpose. 


THE   TOMBS    OF   THE   FATHERS. 


Their  garments,  as  by  stealth,  they  rend ; 

Unconsciously  tltey  pluck  their  hair ; 

— This  is  the  Moslem's  hoar  of  prayer! 
'Twas  Judah's  once, — but  fane  and  priest, 
Altar  and  sacrifice,  have  ceased. 

And  by  the  Gentiles,  in  their  pride, 

Jerusalem  is  trodden  down : 
— "  How  long  ? — for  ever  wilt  thou  hide 

Thy  face,  O  LORD  ; — for  ever  frown  ? 

Israel  was  once  thy  glorious  crown, 
In  sight  of  all  the  nations  worn  ; 
Now  from  thy  brow  in  anger  torn. 

"  Zion,  forsaken  and  forgot, 

Hath  felt  thy  stroke,  and  owns  it  just : 

O  GOD,  our  GOD  !  reject  us  not, 
Her  sons  take  pleasure  in  her  dust : 
How  is  the  fine  gold  dimm'd  with  rust ! 

The  city  throned  in  gorgeous  state, 

How  doth  she  now  sit  desolate  ! 

"  Where  is  thine  oath  to  David  sworn  ? 

We  by  the  winds  like  chaff  are  driven: 
Yet  unto  us  a  child  is  born, 

Yet  unto  us  a  Son  is  given ; 

His  throne  is  as  the  days  of  Heaven : 
When  shall  He  come  to  our  release, 
The  mighty  GOD,  the  Prince  of  Peace  ?' 

PART  III. 

Thus  blind  with  unbelief  they  cry, 
But  hope  revisits  not  their  glooms ; 

SeaTd  are  the  words  of  prophecy, 
Seal'd  as  the  secrets  of  yon  tombs, 
Where  all  is  dark, — though  nature  blooms, 

Birds  sing,  streams  murmur,  heaven  above 

And  earth  around,  are  life,  light,  love. 

36* 


<26  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

The  sun  goes  down  ; — the  mourning1  crowds, 
Re-quicken'd,  as  from  slumber  start ; 

They  met  in  silence  here  like  clouds, 
Like  clouds  in  silence  they  depart : 
Still  cling5*  the  thought  to  every  heart, 

Still  from  their  lips  escapes  in  sighs, 

— "  By  whom  shall  Jacob  yet  arise  ?" 

By  whom  shall  Jacob  yet  arise  ? 

— Even  by  the  Power  that  wakes  the  dead ; 

He  whom  your  fathers  did  despise, 
He  who  for  you  on  Caivary  bled, 
On  Zion  shall  his  ensign  spread ; 

— Captives !  by  all  the  world  enslaved, 

Know  your  Redeemer,  and  be  saved  ! 

1828. 


THE  SUN-FLOWER. 

EAGLE  of  flowers  !  I  see  thee  stand, 

And  on  the  sun's  noon-glory  gaze ; 
With  eye  like  his,  thy  lids  expand, 

And  fringe  their  disk  with  golden  rays : 
Though  fix'd  on  earth,  in  darkness  rooted  there, 
Light  is  thine  element,  thy  dwelling  air, 
Thy  prospect  heaven. 

So  would  mine  eagle-soul  descry, 

Beyond  the  path  where  planets  run, 
The  light  of  immortality, 

The  splendour  of  creation's  sun  ; 
Though  sprung  from  earth,  and  hastening  to  the  tomb, 
In  hope  a  flower  of  paradise  to  bloom, 
I  look  to  heaven, 

1834 


FOR   J.    S.  4f7 


FOR  J.  S., 

A   PREAMBLE    TO   HER   ALBUM. 
" Ut  pictura  poesls."— HOR  De  Artt  Poctica,  v.  381. 

Two  lovely  sisters  here  unite 

To  blend  improvement  with  delight,—- 

Painting  and  Poetry  engage 

To  deck  by  turns  the  varied  page. 

Here  every  glowing  picture  be 
The  quintessence  of  poesy, 
With  skill  so  exquisitely  wrought 
As  if  the  colours  were  pure  thought, 
— Thought,  from  the  bosom's  inmost  cell, 
By  magic  tints  made  visible, 
That,  while  the  eye  admires,  the  mind, 
As  in  a  glass,  itself  may  find. 

And  may  the  Poet's  verse,  alike, 
With  all  the  power  of  painting  strike, 
So  freely,  so  divinely  trace 
In  every  line,  "  the  line  of  grace," 
A.nd  beautify  with  such  sweet  art 
The  image-chamber  of  the  heart, 
That  Fancy  here  may  gaze  her  fill, 
Forming  fresh  scenes  and  shapes  at  will. 
Where  silent  woods  alone  appear, 
Or,  borrowing  voice,  but  touch  the  ear. 

Yet  humble  Prose  with  these  shall  stand, 
Friends,  kindred,  comrades,  hand  in  land, 
All  in  this  fair  enclosure  meet, 
The  lady  of  the  book  to  greet, 
And,  with  the  pen  or  pencil,  make 
The  leaves  love-tokens  for  her  sake. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


TO  CYNTHIA: 

A  young  Lady,  unknown  to  the  Author,  who,  by  letter,  requested  "a  stanza,"  or 
"a  few  lines  in  his  handwriting." 

SPIRITS  in  heaven  can  interchange 
Thoughts  without  voice  or  sound ; 
Spirits  on  earth  at  will  can  range, 
Wherever  man  is  found  ; 
Their  thoughts  (as  silent  and  as  fleet 
As  summer  lightnings  in  the  west, 
When  evening  sinks  to  glorious  rest,) 
In  written  symbols  meet. 

The  motion  of  a  feather  darts 
The  secrets  of  sequester'd  hearts 
To  kindred  hearts  afar ; 
As,  in  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
Quick  rays  of  intermingling  light 
Sparkle  from  star  to  star. 

A  spirit  to  a  spirit  speaks, 
Where  these  few  letters  stand ; 
Strangers  alike, — the  younger  seeks 
A  token  from  the  hand, 
That  traced  an  unpretending  song, 
Whose  numbers  won  her  gentle  soul, 
While,  like  a  mountain-rill,  they  stole 
In  trembling  harmony  along : — 
What  shall  the  poet's  spirit  send 
To  his  unseen,  unseeing  friend  ? 
— A  wish  as  pure  as  e'er  had  birth 
In  thought  or  language  of  this  earth. 

Cynthia  is  young, — may  she  be  old ; 
And  fair  no  doubt, — may  she  grow  wrinkled , 
Her  locks,  in  verse  at  least,  are  gold, 
May  they  turn  silver,  thinly  sprinkled ; 
The  rose  her  cheek,  the  fire  her  eye, 
Youth,  health,  and  strength  successive  fly. 
And  in  the  end, — may  Cynthia  die  ! 


ON   A    WATCH-POCKET.  4M 

"  Unkind  !  inhuman  !" — Stay  your  tears ; 
I  only  wish  you  length  of  years  ; 
And  wish  them  still,  with  all  their  woes, 
And  all  their  blessings,  till  the  close ; 
For  hope  and  fear,  with  anxious  strife, 
Are  wrestlers  in  the  ring  of  life, 
And  yesterday,  to-day,  to-morrow 
Are  but  alternate  joy  and  sorrow. 

Now  mark  the  sequel : — may  your  mind. 
In  wisdom's  paths,  true  pleasure  find, 
Grow  strong  in  virtue,  rich  in  truth, 
And  year  by  year  renew  its  youth  ; 
Till,  in  the  last  triumphant  hour, 
The  spirit  shall  the^esA  o'erpower, 
This  from  its  sufferings  gain  release, 
And  that  take  wing,  and  part  in  peace. 


ON  A  WATCH-POCKET 

WORKED    BY   A.    L. 

WITHIN  this  curious  case, 
Time's  sentinel  I  place, 
Who,  while  calm,  unconscious  slumber 
Shuts  creation  from  mine  eyes, 
Through  the  silent  gloom  shall  number 
Every  moment  as  it  flies, 
And  record,  at  dawn  of  day, 
Thrice  ten  thousand  past  away. 
On  each  of  these,  my  breath 
May  pause  'twixt  life  and  death, 
By  a  subtler  line  depending 
Than  the  ray  of  twinkling  light, 
Which  the  smallest  star  is  sending, 
Every  instant,  through  the  night ; 


430  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Yea,  on  films  more  finely  spun, 
All  things  hang,  beneath  the  sun. 

Rapt  through  a  wiJdering  dream, 
Awake  in  sleep  I  seem  ; 
Sorrow  wrings  my  soul  with  anguish, 
Joy  expands  my  throbbing  breast ; 
Now,  o'erwhelm'd  with  care,  I  languish, 
Now  serene  and  tranquil  rest ; 
— Morning  comes,  and  all  between 
Is  as  though  it  ne'er  had  been. 

But  Time  has  daylight  hours, 
And  man,  immortal  powers  ; 
Waking  joy  and  sleepless  sorrow, 
Worldly  care  and  heavenly  peace; 
Life,  renew'd  with  every  morrow, 
Not  in  death  itself  shall  cease  ; 
Man,  through  all  eternity, 
What  he  here  hath  been  shall  be. 

May  she,  whose  skilful  hand 
This  fairy  net-work  plann'd, 
Still,  in  innocent  employment, 
Far  from  vanity  and  vice, 
Seek  the  Pearl  of  pure  enjoyment, 
On  her  path  to  Paradise  ; 
Time,  for  earth  or  heaven,  employ'd, 
(Both  have  claims)  is  time  enjoy'd. 

Each  day  to  her,  in  flight, 
Bequeath  a  gem  at  night ; 
Some  sweet  hope,  some  hallow'd  pleasure, 
From  remembrance  ne'er  to  part : 
Hourly  blessings  swell  the  treasure 
Hidden  in  her  grateful  heart, 
And  may  every  moment  past 
Leave  a  ray  to  gild  her  last 

1831. 


AN  INFANT'S  ALBUM.  411 


AN  INFANT'S  ALBUM. 

A.  II.  R.  to  her  Friends  and  Contributors,  written  to  accompany  her  Portrait,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  Book. 

Now  look  upon  my  face,  and  say, 
If  you  can  turn  your  eyes  away, 
Nor  grant  the  little  boon  I  ask, 
As  if  it  were  some  mighty  task. 

What  is  it  ? — Only  take  your  pen, 
Look  wise,  and  think  a  moment, — then 
Write  any  thing,  to  which,  for  shame, 
You  need  not  fear  to  put  your  name ; 
Or,  with  the  pencil's  curious  skill, 
Draw  flowers,  birds,  figures, — what  you  will ; 
I,  like  my  elders  and  my  betters, 
Love  pictures  quite  as  well  as  letters. 
Thus,  page  by  page,  my  album  store, 
Till  it  an  album  be  no  more, 
But,  richly  fill'd,  from  end  to  end, 
On  every  leaf  present  a  Friend. 

Now  look  upon  my  face,  and  see 
Yourself,  your  very  self,  in  me ; 
Were  you  not  once  as  mild  and  meek, 
With  lip  demure,  and  plump  round  cheek? 
Did  you  not  sometimes,  too,  look  sly 
Out  of  the  corner  of  your  eye, 
As  if  you  held  an  infant's  jest, 
Like  a  bird  fluttering,  to  your  breast, 
Which  wanted  but  an  inch  of  wing, 
Up  through  the  air  to  soar  and  sing  ? 
So  I  can  feign  to  hide  a  joke, 
And  be  as  arch  as  graver  folk. 

Well,  time  runs  on,  and  I,  you  know, 
As  tall  and  siout  as  you  may  grow, 


432  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Nay,  more  unlike  my  portrait  here, 
Than  you  just  now  like  me  appear. 
Ah  !  then,  if  I  must  change  so  fast, 
What  will  become  of  me  at  last  ? 
— A  poor,  old  woman  of  fourscore  ! 
That's  a  long  way  to  look  before, 
So  I  would  learn  of  you,  meanwhile, 
How  best  the  journey  to  beguile. 
Look  in  my  face  again,  you'll  find 
The  album  of  an  infant's  mind, 
Unsoil'd  by  care,  unworn  by  grief, 
Like  new-fall'n  snow  each  maiden-leaf, 
On  which,  if  not  in  black  and  white, 
In  lines  eternal,  you  may  write 
All  that  is  lovely,  pure,  and  good 
To  be  possess'dor  understood. 

Then,  in  this  volume,  as  it  lies, 
Trace  words  and  pictures  to  my  ey«», 
Which,  thence,  their  mystic  way  may  nnd, 
Into  that  album  of  my  mind, 
And  there  impress  each  opening  page, 
With  thoughts  for  childhood,  youth,  and  age ; 
Breathe  a  sweet  spirit  through  the  whole, 
That,  like  a  soul  within  my  soul, 
Shall,  by  the  early  impulse  given, 
Guide  me  on  earth,  and  bring  to  heaven. 
Let  e'Tery  leaf  unfold  a  text, 
Eithe.  for  this  world  or  the  next ; 
To  learr  r-f  each,  I'm  nothing  loth, 
They  ten  me  I  \vas  born  for  both. 
Let  mirth  with  innocence  combine, 
And  human  knowledge1  aid  divine. 

Thus  form'd  by  it,  a  :»d  it  by  you, 
This  Book  shall  render  each  their  due ; 
For  whoUv  peeps  therein  may  start, 
As  though  he  look'd  into  my  heart  • 
And  if  he  did,  you  must  beware, 
That  he  would  see  your  image  there ; 


TO   MARGARET. 


Then  grant  the  boon  with  such  a  grace,. 
That  you  may  have  a  good,  wa)  m  place : 
— Walk  in,  walk  in  ;  my  heart,  though  small, 
Is  large  enough  to  hold  you  all. 

1828. 


TO  MARGARET; 

A  littlf  girl,  who  begged  to  have  some  verses  from  the  author,  at  Scarborough, 
in  1814. 

MARGARET  !  we  never  met  befor-j, 
And,  Margaret !  we  may  meet  no  more ; 
What  shall  I  s'ay  at  parting  ? 
Scarce  half  a  moon  has  run  her  race, 
Since  first  I  saw  your  fairy-face, 
Around  this  gay  and  giddy  placr, 
Sweet  smiles  and  blushes  darting ; 
Yet  from  my  soul,  I  frankly  tell, 
I  cannot  help  but  wish  you  well. 

I  dare  not  wish  you  stores  of  vealth, 
A  troop  of  friends,  unfailing  heal-h, 
And  freedom  from  affliction  ; 
I  dare  not  wish  you  beauty's  pri/e, 
Carnation  lips,  and  bright  blue  ejes, 
These  look  through  tears,  those  br-  <athe  m  sighs  ;— 
Hear  then  my  benediction  ; 
Of  these  good  gifts  be  you  posses'. 
Just  in  the  measure  GOD  sees  be?  t. 

But,  little  Margaret,  may  you  be 
All  that  His  eye  delights  to  see, 
All  that  He  loves  and  blesses ; 
The  Lord  in  darkness  be  your  1  ght, 
Your  help  in  need,  your  shield  in  fight, 
Your  comfort  in  distresses ; 
Your  hope  through  every  future  breath, 
And  your  eternal  joy  in  death  ! 

37 


434  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


THE  BLANK  LEAP. 

FAIR  page !  the  eye  that  looks  on  thee 
Ere  long  shall  slumber  in  the  dust, 

And  wake  no  more,  until  it  see 
The  resurrection  of  the  just : 

— May  He,  to  whom  that  eye  belongs, 

Join  their  assembly  and  their  songs. 

Whose  is  that  eye  ? — Just  now  'tis  mine, 

But,  reader !  when  thou  look'st  'tis  thine. 

1825.  v   - 


THE  GNAT. 

Written  with  pencil  round  an  insect  of  that  kind,  which  had  been  accidentally 
crushed,  and  remained  fixed  on  a  blank  page  of  a  Lady's  Album. 

LIE  here  embalm'd,  from  age  to  age ; 
This  is  the  album's  noblest  page, 
Though  every  glowing  leaf  be  fraught 
With  painting,  poetry,  and  thought ; 
Where  tracks  of  mortal  hands  are  seen, 
A  hand  invisible  hath  been, 
And  left  this  autograph  behind, 
This  image  from  th'  eternal  Mind  ; 
A  work  of  skill,  surpassing  sense, 
A  labour  of  Omnipotence ; 
Though  frail  as  dust  it  meet  thine  eye, 
He  form'd  this  gnat  who  built  the  sky. 

Stop — lest  it  vanish  at  thy  breath. 
This  speck  had  life,  and  suffer' d  death. 


MORNA. 


MORNA. 

Macpherson's  ()<<nn  lias  had  many  admirers ;  and  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  the 
compositions  attributed  to  the  son  or  Fiugal  abound  with  striking  imagery, 
heroic  sentiment,  and  hardy  expression,  the  effect  of  which,  nn  young  minds 
especially,  may  be  highly  exhilarating  for  a  while.  But,  independent  of  the 
obscurity,  sameness,  and  repetition,  which  were  probably  characteristic  of  the 
originals— whatever  those  originals  may  have  been — the  translation  is  "done 
into  English,"  in  such  a  "  Babylonish  dialect,"  that,  it  might  be  presumed, 
no  tar  accustomed  to  the  melody  of  pure  prose  or  the  freedom  of  eloquent 
verse,  could  endure  the  incongruities  of  a  style,  in  which  broken  verse  of 
various  measures,  and  halting  prose  of  almost  unmanageable  cadences,  com- 
pound sentences  as  difficult  to  read  and  as  dissonant  to  hear,  ns  a  strain  of 
music  would  be  in  execution  and  effect,  if  every  bar  were  set  to  a  different 
time  and  in  a  different  key:  If  for  such  wild  works  of  imagination  a  corre- 
sponding diction  be  desirable,  a  style  between  prose  and  verse,  not  a  heteroge- 
neous jumbling  of  both,  might  perhaps  be  invented.  For  this  we  must  have  a 
poetical  foundation  with  a  prose  superstructure  ;  the  former,  that  the  vehicle 
of  thought  may  admit  of  florid  embellishment;  the  latter,  that  full  license  may 
be  obtained  of  accommodating,  by  expansion  or  contraction,  the  scope  of  the 
ideas,  unincumbered  with  rhyme,  and  unrestricted  by  infrangible  metrical 
trammels. 

The  episode  of  Morna  is,  perhaps,  the  most  truly  beautiful  and  pathetic,  as  well 
as  simple  and  intelligible,  narrative  among  these  rhapsodical  productions, 
in  the  following  experiment,  which  U  submitted  to  the  curious,  the  anapa-stic 
foot  if  adopted  as  the  groundwork,  because  cadences  of  that  measure  have 
peculiar  fluency.  There  is  some  difficulty,  indeed,  to  the  reader,  in  hitting 
the  right  accents  at  all  times,  from  the  great  laxity  of  our  language  in  that 
respect,  and  the  carelessness  of  writers;  yet  as  this  movement  admits  of  the 
utmost  variety  of  subdivisions,  and  the  lines  may  be  lengthened  or  shortened, 
according  to  the  burden  of  the  matter  of  each,  it  \s  well  suited  to  a  mode  of 
composition,  which  would  blend  the  harmony  of  song  with  the  freedom  ofdis- 
course,  if  such  union  were  compatible  This,  to  some  extent,  hai  been  proved 
practicable  in  many  passages  of  several  English  translations  of  the  Psalms 
and  the  Prophecies,  of  which  a  very  |>erfecl  specimen  may  be  found  in  (Ad 
frst  rrrrn  vents  of  Ike  nintty-ffth  Plain,  according  to  the  Common  Prayer- 
book  rendering.  When  read  with  simplicity,  and  the  due  accent  Mid  upon  the 
long  syllable*,  nothing  perhaps  in  human  speech  can  be  quoted  more  delicately 
implicated  than  the  clauses,  or  more  melodious  than  the  sequence  of  plain 
rvixuii  Bound*  that  compose  the  diction,  while  the  variety  of  cadence  and  the 
change  of  cesiira  in  every  turn  of  the  thought  is  not  less  admirable.  The  strain 
passes  Into  entirely  another  key  from  the  eighth  verse  inclusive  to  the  end, 
the  theme  In  fact  suggesting  a  correspondent  change  to  the  nun-Mr. Ts  hand, 
when  he  drops  the  hortatory  preamble,  and  proceeds  to  the  historical  argu- 
ment, or  rather,  when  he  giv^s  way  abruptly  at  the  sound  of  the  very  voice 
to  which  he  is  calling  upon  his  hoar-rs  to  hearken  ;  while  JEHOVAH  himself 
from  between  the  cherubim  (for  the-  scene  Is  in  the  temple)  speak*  out, 
"Harden  not  your  hearts,  as  In  the  provocation  •  •  •  •  when  your  fathers 
templed  me,  proted  me,  and  saw  My  works,"  Ice.,  to  the  fearful  close  of  ib« 
pcalui. 


L 


436  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS 


The  following  att'.mpt  to  tame  what  has  been  called  "  prose  run  mad,"  into 
what  may  easily  be  designated  by  a  phrase  not  less  opprobrious,  is  made  upon 
a  principle  more  strictly  rhythmical  than  the  measured  style  of  our  vernacular 
translations  of  -Scripture  poetry;  and  in  behalf  of  it  a  claim  to  be  received 
with  indulgenc  :  by  the  admirers  of  Gaelic  legends  may  be  fairly  preferred, 
since  the  oflfen'  e,  if  it  be  one,  against  good  taste  is  not  likely  to  be  imitated, 
nor  will  the  01  ginal  culprit  soon  be  induced  to  repeat  it,  being  himself  of 
opinion,  that  t'.ough  a  few  pages  got  up  in  this  manner  may  not  be  unpleasing, 
a  volume  would  be  intolerable. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  add,  that  this  experiment  on  the  tale  of  Morna  has  not 
been  made  from  Macpherson,  but  from  a  version  of  Fingal,  of  which  a  few 
copies  only  were  printed  at  Edinburgh  some  years  ago,  for  private  circulation. 
Whether  the  work  has  ever  been  further  published,  the  present  writer  knows 
not ;  but  it  appeared  to  him,  oil  the  hasty  perusal  of  a  lent  copy,  preferable  to 
the  old  one. 

THE    ARGUMENT. 

Cathbat  and  Morna  are  lovers.  Duchdmar,  the  rival  of  Cnthbat,  having  slain 
the  latter  in  tlw  chase,  meets  Morna,  tells  her  what  he  has  done,  and  wooes 
her  for  himself.  In  the  course  of  the  interview  they  fall  by  each  other's  hands, 
and  die  together. — The  story  is  supposed  to  be  related  to  Cuchull  n,  general 
oflhe  tribes  of  Erin,  who,  at  the  conclusion,  laments  the  premature  loss  of  the 
two  valiant  warriors,  and  the  death  of  the  maiden. 

CATHBAT  fell  by  the  sword  of  Duchomar, 
At  the  oak  of  the  loud-rolling  stream  ; 
Duchomar  came  to  the  cave  of  the  forest, 
And  epake  to  the  gentle  maid. 

"  Morna  !  fairest  of  women  ! 
Beautiful  daughter  of  high-born  Cormac  ! 
Wherefore  alone  in  the  circle  of  stones, 
Alone  at  the  cave  of  the  mountain? 
The  old  oak  sounds  in  the  wind, 
That  ruffles  the  distant  lake  ; 
Black  clouds  engirdle  the  gloomy  horizon ; 
But  thou  art  like  snow  on  the  heath  ; 
Thy  ringlets  resemble  the  light  mist  of  Cromln, 
When  it  winds  round  the  sides  of  the  hill, 
In  the  beams  of  the  evening  sun." 

"  Whence  comest  thou,  sternest  of  men  ?** 
Said  the  maid  of  the  graceful  locks  ; 
"  Evermore  dark  was  thy  brow ; 
Now  red  is  thine  eye,  and  ferocious ; 
Doth  Swaram  appear  on  the  sea  ? 
What  tidings  from  Lochlin  ?" 


MORNA.  O7 

"  No  tidings  from  Lochlin,  O  Morna  ! 
I  come  from  the  mountains  ; 
I  come  from  the  chase  of  the  fleet-footed  hind : 
Three  red  deer  have  fallen  by  my  arrows ; 
One  fell  for  thee,  fair  daughter  of  Cormac  ! 
As  my  soul  do  I  love  thee,  white-handed  maiden  ! 
Queen  of  the  hearts  of  men  !" 

"  Duchomar  !"  the  maiden  replied, 
"  None  of  my  love  is  for  thee  : 
Dark  is  thine  eyebrow,  thy  bosom  is  darker, 
And  hard  as  the  rock  is  thine  heart : 
But,  thou,  the  dear  offspring  of  Armin, 
Cathbat !  art  Morna's  love. 
Bright  as  the  sunbeams  thy  beautiful  locks, 
When  the  mist  of  the  valley  is  climbing  the  mountain  :— 
Saw'st  thou  the  chief,  the  young  hero, 
Cathbat  the  brave,  in  thy  course  on  the  hill  ? 
The  daughter  of  Cormac  the  mighty 
Tarries  to  welcome  her  love  from  the  field." 

"  Long  shall  thou  tarry,  O  Morna  !" 
Sullenly,  fiercely,  Duchomar  replied : 
"  Long  shall  thou  tarry,  O  Morna ! 
To  welcome  the  rude  son  of  Armin  ! 
Lo !  on  this  sharp-edged  sword, 
Red  to  the  hilt  is  the  life-blood  of  Cathbat : 
Slain  is  thine  hero, 
By  me  he  was  slain : 
His  cairn  will  I  build  upon  Cromla. 
— Daughter  of  blue-shielded  Cormac ! 
Turn  on  Duchomar  thine  eye." 

"  Fallen  in  death  is  the  brave  son  of  Armin  T" 
The  maiden  exclaim'd  with  the  voice  of  love  : 
"  Fallen  in  death  on  the  pine-crested  hill  ? 
The  loveliest  youth  of  the  host ! 
Of  heroes  the  first  in  ihe  chase  ! 
The  direst  of  foes  to  the  sea-roving  slranger  !— 
Dark  is  Duchomar  in  wralh ; 
Deadly  his  arm  lo  me  ; 

37* 


438  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Foe  unto  Morna ! — but  lend  me  thy  weapon, 
Cathbat  I  loved,  and  I  love  his  blood." 

He  yielded  the  sword  to  her  tears ; 
She  plunged  the  red  blade  through  his  side ; 
He  fell  by  the  stream ; 

He  stretch'd  forth  his  hand,  and  his  voice  was  heard: 
"  Daughter  of  blue-shielded  Cormac  ! 
Thou  hast  cut  off  my  youth  from  renown ; 
Cold  is  the  sword,  the  glory  of  heroes, 
Cold  in  my  bosom,  O  Morna  ! 
— Ah  !  give  me  to  Moina  the  maiden, 
For  I  am  her  dream  in  the  darkness  of  night ; 
My  tomb  she  will  build  in  the  midst  of  the  camp, 
That  the  hunter  may  hail,  the  bright  mark  of  my  fame. 
— But  draw  forth  the  sword  from  my  bosom, 
For  cold  is  the  blade,  O  Morna !" 

Slowly  and  weeping  she  came, 
And  drew  forth  the  sword  from  his  side ; 
He  seized  it,  and  struck  the  red  steel  to  her  heart ; 
She  fell : — on  the  earth  lay  her  tresses  dishevell'd, 
The  blood  gurgled  fast  from  the  wound, 
And  crimson'd  her  arm  of  snow. 

*  *  *  * 

"Tell  me  no  more  of  the  maiden  !" 
Cuchullin,  the  war-chief  of  Erin  replied: 
— "  Peace  to  the  souls  of  the  heroes  ! 
Their  prowess  was  great  in  the  conflict  of  swords; 
Let  them  glide  by  my  chariot  in  war ! 
Let  their  spirits  appear  in  the  clouds  o'er  the  valley  ! 
So  shall  my  breast  be  undaunted  in  danger  ! 

"  Be  thou  like  a  moon-beam,  O  Mornt  ! 
When  my  sight  is  beginning  to  fail ; 
When  my  soul  is  reposing  in  penco, 
And  the  tumult  of  war  is  no  more." 


THE   VALENTINE    WREATH 


THE  VALENTINE  WREATH. 

ROSY-RED  the  hills  appear 

With  the  light  of  morning, 

Beauteous  clouds,  in  ether  clear, 

All  the  east  adorning ; 

White  through  mist  the  meadows  shine, 

Wake,  my  love,  my  Valentine ! 

For  thy  locks  of  raven-hue, 
Flowers  with  hoar-frost  pearly. 
Crocus-cups  of  gold  and  blue, 
Snowdrops  drooping 'early, 
With  mezereon-sprigs  combine ; 
Rise,  my  love,  my  Valentine  ! 

O'er  the  margin  of  the  flood,  . 

Pluck  the  daisy,  peeping ; 
Through  the  dry  leaves  in  the  wood, 
Hunt  the  sorrel  creeping; 
With  the  little  celandine, 
Crown  my  love,  my  Valentine ! 

Pansies,  on  their  lowly  steins, 
Scatter'd  o'er  the  fallows ; 
Hazel-buds,  with  crimson  gems, 
Green  and  glossy  sallows ; 
Tufted  moss  and  ivy-twine, 
Deck  my  love,  my  Valentine  I 

Few  and  simple  flowerets  these ; 
Yet  to  me  less  glorious, 
Garden-beds  and  orchard-trees, 
Since  this  wreath  victorious 
Binds  thee  now  for  ever  mine, 
O  my  love,  my  Valentine ! 

1B1I. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


THE  WIDOW. 

Written  at  the  requestor  a  Lady,  who  furnished  several  of  the  lines  anJ  the 
plan  of  the  whole. 

AH  !  who  is  she  that  sits  and  weeps, 
And  gazes  on  the  narrow  mound  ? 
— In  that  fresh  grave  her  true  love  sleeps, 
Her  heart  lies  with  him  in  the  ground : 
She  heeds  not,  while  her  babe,  at  play, 
Plucks  the  frail  flowers,  that  gaily  bloom, 
And  casts  them,  ere  they  fade  away, 
In  garlands,  on  its  father's  tomb ; 
— Unconscious  where  its  father  lies, 
"  Sweets  to  the  sweet !"  the  prattler  cries ; 
Ah !  then  she  starts,  looks  up,  her  eyes  o'erflow 
With  all  a  mother's  love,  and  all  a  widow's  wo. 

Again  she  turns  away  her  head, 

Nor  marks  her  infant's  sportive  air, 

Its  cherub-cheeks  all  rosy-red, 

Its  sweet  blue  eyes  and  ringlet-hair ; 

Silent  she  turns  away  her  head, 

Nor  dare  behold  that  smile-bright  face, 

Where  live  the  features  of  the  dead 

In  lineaments  of  fairy-grace  : 

For  there  at  once,  with  transport  wild, 

She  sees  her  husband  arM  her  child ; 
Ah!  then  her  bosom  burns,  her  eyes  o'erflow 
With  all  a  mother's  love,  and  all  a  widow's  wo. 

And  still  I  find  her  sitting  here, 
Though  dark  October  frowns  on  all ; 
And  from  the  lime-trees  rustling  near, 
The  scatter'd  leaves  around  her  fall ; 


ll — 


THE   WIDOW.  441 


O  then  it  charms  her  inmost  soul, 

It  suits  the  sadness  of  her  mind, 

To  watch  the  clouds  of  autumn  roll, 

And  listen  to  the  moaning  wind; 

In  every  shadow,  every  blast, 

The  spirits  of  enjoyments  past, 
She  sees,  she  hears  : — ah  !  then  her  eyes  o'erflow 
Not  with  the  mother's  love,  but  with  the  widow's  wo 

Yon  peasant  dreads  a  gathering  storm, 

Yet  pauses  as  he  hastens  by, 

Marks  the  pale  ruin  of  her  form, 

The  desolation  of  her  eye ; 

Beholds  her  babe  for  shelter  creep 

Behind  the  grave-stone's  dreary  shade, 

Where  all  its  father's  sorrows  sleep, 

And  all  its  mother's  hopes  are  laid ; 

Remembering  then  his  own  heart's  joy, 

A  rosy  wife,  a  blooming  boy  ; 
"  Ah  me  !"  he  sighs,  "  when  I  am  thus  laid  low, 
Must  my  poor  partner  feel  a  widow'd  mother's  wo?" 

He  gently  stretches  out  his  arm, 
And  calls  the  babe  in  accents  mild ; 
The  mother  shrieks  with  strange  alarm, 
And  snatches  up  her  wondering  child  ; 
She  thought  that  voice  of  tender  tone, 
Those  accents  soft,  endearing,  kind, 
Came  from  beneath  the  hollow  stone  ! 
— He  marks  the  wandering  of  her  mind, 
And  thankful  for  his  happier  lot, 
Seeks  the  warm  comforts  of  his  cot ; 

He  meets  his  wife  ; — ah  !  then  his  eyes  o'erflorr; 

She  feels  a  mother's  love,  nor  dreads  a  widow's  wo, 

The  storm  retires  ; — and  hark  !  the  bird, 
The  lonely  bird  of  autumn's  reign, 
From  the  church  pinnacle  is  he  ird  ; 
O  what  a  clear  and  simple  strain  ! 


442  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

See  the  delighted  mourner  start, 
While  Robin  red-breast's  evening  song 
Pours  all  its  sweetness  through  her  heart, 
And  soothes  it  as  it  trills  along : 
Then  gleams  her  eye,  her  fancy  hears 
The  warbled  music  of  the  spheres ; 
She  clasps  her  babe ;  she  feels  her  bosprn  glow, 
And  in  a  mother's  love  forgets  a  widow's  wo. 

Go  to  thine  home,  forsaken  fair ! 
Go  to  thy  solitary  home  ; 
Thou  lovely  pilgrim,  in  despair, 
To  thy  saint's  shrine  no  longer  roam ; 
He  rests  not  here ; — thy  soul's  delight 
Attends  where'er  thy  footsteps  tread ; 
He  watches  in  the  depth  of  night, 
A  guardian-angel  round  thy  bed ; 
And  still  a  father,  fondly  kind, 
Eyes  the  dear  pledge  he  left  behind : 
So  love  may  deem,  and  death  may  prove  it  so : 
— In  heaven  at  least  there  is  no  widow's  wo ; 
Thither,  in  following  him,  with  thy  sweet  infant  go. 


MOTTO  TO  "A  POET'S  PORTFOLIO." 
(FRAGMENT  OF  A  PAGE  OF  OBLIVION.) 

FALL'N  feathers  of  a  moulting  wing, 

Which  ne'er  again  may  soar  ; 

Notes,  sung  in  autumn  woods,  where  Spring 

Shall  hear  their  sounds  no  more: 

Her  voice  and  plume — the  bird  renews ; 

Man  fails  but  once  ; — 'tis  in  the  tomb. 

His  strength  he  mews. 

1835. 


AT    HOME   IN    HEAVEN.  441 


AT  HOME  IN  HEAVEN. 

1  THEM.  iv.  17. 

PART  I. 

"FoR  ever  with  the  LORD  !" 

— Amen,  so  let  it  be  ; 
Life  from  the  dead  is  in  that  word, 

'Tis  immortality. 

Here  in  the  body  pent, 

Absent  from  Him  I  roam ; 
Yet  nightly  pitch  my  moving  tent 

A  day's  march  nearer  home. 

My  Father's  house  on  high, 
Home  of  my  soul,  how  near, 

At  times,  to  faith's  foreseeing  eye, 
Thy  golden  gates  appear ! 

Ah  !  then  my  spirit  faints 

To  reach  the  land  I  love, 
The  bright  inheritance  of  saints, 

Jerusalem  above. 

Yet  clouds  will  intervene, 
And  all  my  prospect  flies ; 

Like  Noah's  dove,  I  flit  betwten 
Rough  seas  and  stormy  skies. 

Anon  the  clouds  dispart, 

The  winds  and  waters  cease, 

While  sweetly  o'er  my  glndden'd  heart 
Expands  the  bow  of  peace. 


444  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Beneath  its  glowing  arch, 
Along  the  hallow'd  ground, 

I  see  cherubic  armies  march, 
A  camp  of  fire  around. 

I  hear  at  morn  and  even, 
At  noon  and  midnight  hour, 

The  choral  harmonies  of  heaven 
Earth's  Babel-tongues  o'erpower 

Then,  then  I  feel  that  He, 
(Remember'd  or  forgot,) 

The  LORD  is  never  far  from  me, 
Though  I  perceive  Him  not. 

PART  II. 

In  darkness  as  in  light, 
Hidden  alike  from  view, 

I  sleep,  I  wake  within  his  sight 
Who  looks  existence  through. 

From  the  dim  hour  of  birth, 
Through  every  changing  state 

Of  mortal  pilgrimage  on  earth, 
Till  its  appointed  date ; 

All  that  I  am,  have  been, 
All  that  I  yet  may  be, 

He  sees  at  once,  as  He  hath  seen, 
And  shall  for  ever  see. 

How  can  I  meet  His  eyes  ? 

Mine  on  the  cross  I  cast, 
And  own  my  life  a  Saviour's  prize, 

Mercy  from  first  to  last. 

"For  ever  with  the  LORD  !" 
i — Father,  if  'tis  thy  will, 

The  promise  of  that  faithtul  word. 
Even  here  to  me  fulfil. 


AT   HOME   IN   HEAVEN.  445 

Be  tliou  at  my  right  hand, 

Then  can  I  never  fail ; 
Uphold  Thou  me,  and  I  shall  stand, 

Fight,  and  I  must  prevail. 

So  when  my  latest  breath 

Shall  rend  the  veil  in  twain, 
By  death  I  shall  escape  from  death, 

And  life  eternal  gain. 

Knowing  as  I  am  known, 

How  shall  I  love  that  word, 
And  oft  repeat  before  the  throne, 

"  For  ever  with  the  LORD  !" 

Then  though  the  soul  enjoy 

Communion  high  and  sweet, 
While  worms  this  body  must  destroy, 

Both  shall  in  glory  meet. 

The  trump  of  final  doom 

Will  speak  the  self-same  word, 
And  heaven's  voice  thunder  through  the  tomb, 

"  For  ever  with  the  LORD  !" 

The  tomb  shall  echo  deep 

That  death-awakening  sound ; 
The  saints  shall  hear  it  in  their  sleep, 

And  answer  from  the  ground. 

Then  upward  as  they  fly, 

That  resurrection-word 
Shall  be  their  shout  of  victory, 

"  For  ever  with  the  LORD  !" 

That  resurrection-word, 

That  shout  of  victory, 
Once  more, — "  For  ever  with  the  LORD  '* 

Amen,  so  let  it  be. 


44«  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE  VEIL. 

THERE  is  a  veil  no  mortal  hand  can  draw, 
Which  hides  what  eye  of  mortal  never  saw ; 
Through  that  (each  moment  by  the  dying  riven) 
Could  but  a  glance  be  to  the  living  given, 
How  into  nothing,  less  than  nothing,  all 
Life's  vanities,  life's  verities  would  fall, 
And  that  alone  of  priceless  worth  be  deem'd, 
Which  is  most  lightly  by  the  world  esteem'd ! 

Enough  is  known  ;  there  is  a  heaven,  a  hell ; 
Who  'scapes  the  last  and  wins  the  first  doth  well  : 
Whither  away,  my  soul ! — in  which  wouldst  thou 
Emerge  from  life,  were  death  to  smite  me  now  ? 

1834. 


HEAVEN  IN  PROSPECT. 

PALMS  of  glory,  raiment  bright, 
Crowns  that  never  fade  away, 

Gird  and  deck  the  saints  in  light, 

Priests  and  kings  and  conquerors  they. 

Yet  the  conquerors  bring  their  palms 
To  the  Lamb  amidst  the  throne, 

And  proclaim,  in  joyful  psalms, 
Victory  through  his  cross  alone. 

Kings  for  harps  their  crowns  resign, 
Crying,  as  they  strike  the  chords, 

"  Take  the  kingdom, — it  is  thine, 
King  of  kings  and  Lord  of  lords." 

Round  the  altar,  priests  confess, 
If  their  robes  are  white  as  snow, 

'Twas  the  Saviour's  righteousness, 
And  his  blood  that  made  them  so. 


ON   THE   FIRST    LEAF   Of   MISS   J.'s    ALBUM.  4fT 

Who  were  these  ? — on  earth  they  dwelt 

Sinners  once  of  Adam's  race, 
Guilt,  and  fear,  and  suffering  felt, 

But  were  saved  by  sovereign  grace. 

They  were  mortal,  too,  like  us ; 

— Ah  !  when  we,  like  them,  shall  die, 
May  our  souls,  translated  thus, 

Triufhph,  reign,  and  shine  on  high ! 


ON   THE 

FIRST  LEAF  OF  MISS  J.'S  ALBUM. 

WHAT  thoughts,  beyond  the  reach  of  thought 

To  guess  what  they  may  be, 
Shall  in  succession  here  be  brought 

From  depths  no  eye  can  see  ! 

Those  thoughts  are  now  upon  their  way, 

Like  light  from  stars  unseen, 
Though,  ere  they  reach  us,  many  a  day 

And  year  may  intervene  : — 

Thoughts,  which  shall  spring  in  friendship's  breast, 

Or  genius  touch  with  fire  ; 
Thoughts,  which  good  angels  may  suggest, 

Or  GOD  himself  inspire. 

Such,  o'er*these  pages  pure  and  white, 

By  many  a  willing  hand, 
Be  writ  in  characters  of  light, 

And  here  unfading  stand  ! 

Tha.  she  who  owns  the  whole  may  find, 

Reveal'd  in  every  part, 
The  trace  of  some  ingenuous  mind, 

T  lie  love  of  some  warm  ht-art. 


448  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE  SAND  AND  THE  ROCK. 

"I  will  open  my  dark  saying  upon  the  harp."— Psalm  xlix.4. 

PART  I.  9 

DESTRUCTION. 

I  BUILT  my  house  upon  the  sand, 

And  saw  its  image  in  the  sea, 
That  seem'd  as  stable  as  the  land, 

And  beautiful  as  heaven  to  me. 

For  in  the  clear  and  tranquil  tide, 

As  in  a  nether  firmament, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars  appear'd  to  glide, 

And  lights  and  shadows  came  and  went 

I  ate  and  drank,  I  danced  and  sung, 
Reclined  at  ease,  at  leisure  strolFd, 

Collecting  shells  and  pebbles,  flung 
Upon  the  beach,  for  gems  and  gold. 

I  said  unto  my  soul,  "  Rejoice  ! 

In  safety,  wealth,  and  pleasure  here ;" 
But  while  I  spake,  a  secret  voice, 

Within  my  bosom,  whisper'd  "  Fear !" 

I  heeded  not,  and  went  to  rest, 

Prayerless,  once  more,  beneath  my  roof, 
Nor  deem'd  the  eagle  on  his  nest. 

More  peril-free,  more  tempest-proof. 

But  in  the  dead  and  midnight  hour 
A  storm  came  down  upon  the  deep  ; 

Wind,  rain,  and  lightning,  such  a  stour, 
Methought  'twas  doomsday  in  my  sleep. 

1  strove,  but  could  not  wake, — the  stream 
Beat  vehemently  on  my  wall ; 


THE    SAND    AND    THE   ROCK. 


I  felt  it  tottering  in  my  dream  ; 
It  fell,  and  dreadful  was  the  fall. 

Swept  with  the  ruins  down  the  flood, 

I  woke  ;  home,  hope,  and  heart  were  gone ; 

My  brain  flash'd  fire,  ice  thrill'd  my  blood ; 
Life,  life  was  all  I  thought  upon. 

Peath,  death  was  all  that  met  my  eye ; 

Deep  swallow'd  deep,  wave  buried  wave : 
I  look'd  in  vain  for  land  and  sky ; 

All  was  one  sea, — that  sea  one  grave. 

I  struggled  through  the  strangling  tide, 
As  though  a  bowstring  wrung  my  neck ; 

"  Help  !  help  !"  voice  fail'd, — I  fain  had  cried, 
And  clung  convulsive  to  the  wreck. 

Not  long, — for  suddenly  a  spot 

Of  darkness  fell  upon  my  brain, 
Which  spread  and  press'd,  till  I  forgot 

All  pain  in  that  excess  of  pain. 

PART  II. 

TRANSITION. 

Two  woes  were  past ;  a  worse  befell ; 

When  I  revived,  the  sea  had  fled ; 
Beneath  me  yawned  the  gulf  of  hell, 

Broad  as  the  vanish'd  ocean's  bed. 

Downward  I  seem'd  to  plunge  through  space, 

As  lightning  flashes  and  expires, 
Yet — how  I  knew  not — turn'd  my  face 

Away  from  those  terrific  fires ; — 

And  saw,  in  glory  throned  afar, 

A  human  form  yet  all  divine  ; 
F/eyond  the  track  of  sun  or  star. 

High  o'er  all  height  it  seem'd  to  shine. 

'Twas  He  who  in  the  furnace  wnlk'd 

With  Shndrach,  nnd  controll'd  its  power; 

38*" 


MISCELLANEOUS 


'Twas  He  with  whom  Elias  talk'd, 
In  his  transfiguration-hour. 

'Twas  He  whom,  in  the  lonely  Isle 

Of  Patmos,  John  in  spirit  saw  ; 
And  at  the  lightning  of  his  smile, 

Fell  down  as  dead,  entranced  with  awe. 

From  his  resplendent  diadem, 

A  ray  shot  through  mine  inmost  soul ; 

"  Could  I  but  touch  his  garment's  hem," 

Methought,  "  like  her  whom  faith  made  whole. ' 

Faith,  faith  was  given ; — though  nigh  and  nig-he*- 
Swift  verging  tow'rds  the  gulf  below, 

I  stretch'd  my  hand  ; — but  high  and  higher 
Ah  me  !  the  vision  seem'd  to  go. 

"  Save,  Lord,  I  perish  !" — while  I  cried, 

Some  miracle  of  mercy  drew 
My  spirit  upward  ; — hell  yawn'd  wide, 

And  follow'd  ; — upwards  still  I  flew: — 

And  upwards  still  the  surging  flame 
Pursued  ; — yet  all  was  clear  above, 

Whence  brighter,  sweeter,  kindlier  came 
My  blessed  Saviour's  looks  of  love. 

Till  with  a  sudden  flash  forth  beam'd 

The  fulness  of  the  Deity  : — 
Hell's  jaws  collapsed  ;  I  felt  redeom'd  ; 

The  snare  was  broken,  I  was  free. 

A  voice  from  heaven  proclaim'd, — "  'Tis  don:  !** 
Then,  like  a  homeward  ray  of  light 

From  the  last  planet  to  the  sun, 

I  darted  through  the  abyss  of  night. 

Till  He  put  forth  his  hand,  to  meet 

Mine,  grasping  at  infinity  ; 
He  caught  me,  set  me  on  my  feet 

I  fell  at  his  in  ecstasy. 


"LOVEST  THOU  ME."  431 

What  follow'd,  human  tongue  in  vain 
Would  question  language  to  disclose : 

Enough, — that  I  was  born  again ; 
From  death  to  life  that  hour  I  rose. 

PART  III. 

RESTITUTION. 

I  built  once  more,  but  on  a  rock 

(Faith's  strong  foundation  firm  and  sure) 

Fix'd  mine  abode,  the  heaviest  shock 
Of  time  and  tempest  to  endure. 

Not  small,  nor  large,  not  low,  nor  high, 

Mid\vay  it  stands  upon  the  steep, 
Beneath  the  storm-mark  of  the  sky, 

Above  the  flood-mark  of  the  deep. 

And  here  I  humbly  wait,  while  He, 
Who  pluck'd  me  from  the  lowest  hell, 

Prepares  a  heavenly  house  for  me, 

Then  calls  me  home  with  Him  to  dwell. 


"LOVEST  THOU  ME?" 

Jonx  zzi.  13—17. 

41  Invest  thou  me?"  I  hear  my  Saviour  say : 
Would  that  my  heart  had  power  to  answer — "  Yea ; 
Thou  knowest  all  things,  LORD,  in  heaven  above, 
And  earth  beneath ;  Thou  knowest  that  I  love." 
But  'tis  not  so ;  in  word,  in  deed,  in  thought, 
I  do  not,  cannot  love  thee  as  I  ought ; 
Thy  love  must  give  that  power,  thy  love  alone ; 
There's  nothing  worthy  of  thee  but  thine  own; 
LORD,  with  the  love  wherewith  thou  lovedst  me, 
Reflected  on  thyself,  /  would  love  thee. 


I 

451  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


GARDEN  THOUGHTS. 

On  occasion  of  a  Christian  assembly  in  the  grounds  of  a  gentleman  at  York,  for 
the  purpose  of  promoting  Missions  among  the  Heathen. 

IN  a  garden — man  was  placed, 

Meet  abode  for  innocence, 
With  his  Maker's  image  graced  ; 

— Sin  crept  in  and  drove  him  thence, 
Through  the  world,  a  wretch  undone, 
Seeking  rest,  and  finding  none. 

In  a  garden — on  that  night, 

When  our  Saviour  was  betray'd, 
With  what  world-redeeming  might, 

In  his  agony  he  pray'd  ! 
Till  he  drank  the  vengeance  up, 
And  with  mercy  fill'd  the  cup. 

In  a  garden — on  the  cross, 

When  the  spear  his  heart  had  riven, 

And  for  earth's  primeval  loss, 

Heaven's  best  ransom  had  been  given, 

— Jesus  rested  from  his  woes, 

Jesus  from  the  dead  arose. 

Here,  not  Eden's  bowers  are  found, 

Nor  forlorn  Gethsemane, 
Nor  that  calm,  sepulchral  ground 

At  the  foot  of  Calvary  ; 
— Yet  this  scene  may  well  recall 
Sweet  remembrances  of  all. 

Emblem  of  the  church  below  ! 
Where  the  Spirit  and  the  Word 


GARDEN  THOUGHTS. 


Fall  like  dews,  like  breezes  blow, 

And  the  LORD  GOD'S  voice  is  heard, 
Walking  in  the  cool  of  day, 
While  the  world  is  far  away  : — 

Emblem  of  the  church  above  ! 

Where,  as  in  their  native  clime, 
Midst  the  garden  of  his  love, 

Rescued  from  the  rage  of  time, 
Saints,  as  trees  of  life,  shall  stand, 
Planted  by  his  own  right  hand  ! 

Round  the  fair  enclosure  here 

Flames  no  cherub's  threatening  sword, 
Ye  who  enter  feel  no  fear : 

— RooPd  by  heaven,  with  verdure  floor'd. 
Breathing  balm  from  blossoms  gay, 
This  be  paradise  to-day. 

Yet  one  moment  meditate 

On  our  parents'  banishment, 
When  from  Eden's  dosing  gate, 

Hand  in  hand,  they  weeping  went, 
Spikenard  groves  no  more  to  dress, 
But  a  thorn-set  wilderness. 

Then  remember  Him  who  laid 

Uncreated  splendour  by, 
Lower  than  the  angels  made, 

Fallen  man  to  glorify, 
And  from  death  beyond  the  grave . 
Until  life  immortal  save. 

Think  of  Him — your  souls  He  sought. 

Wandering,  never  to  return  ; 
Hath  He  found  you  ? — At  the  thought 

Your  glad  hearts  within  you  burn ; 
Then  your  love  like  His  extend, 
Be  like  Him  the  sinner's  friend 


454  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

O'er  Jerusalem  he  wept, 

Doom'd  to  perish  ;— can't  you  weep 
O'er  a  world,  by  Satan  kept 

Dreaming  in  delirious  sleep, 
Till  the  twinkle  of  an  eye 
Wakes  them  in  eternity  ? 

Ye,  who  smile  in  rosy  youth, 

Glow  with  manhood,  fade  through  years, 
Send  the  life,  the  light,  the  truth, 

To  dead  hearts,  blind  eyes,  deaf  ears, 
And  your  very  pleasures  make 
Charities  for  Jesus'  sake. 

So  shall  gospel -glory  run 

Round  the  globe,  to  every  clime, 

Brighter  than  the  circling  sun, 
Hastening  that  millennial  time, 

When  the  earth  shall  be  restored 

As  the  garden  of  the  LORD. 

1839 


TO  MR.  AND  MRS.  T., 


WITH  THE  FOREGOING  STANZAS. 

YE  who  own  this  quiet  place, 

Here,  like  Enoch,  walk  with  GOD  ; 

And,  till  summon'd  hence,  through  grace, 
Tread  the  path  your  Saviour  trod ; 

Then  to  paradise  on  high, 

With  the  wings  of  angels  fly. 


THE    FIELD    OF   THE   WORLD. 


THE  FIELD  OF  THE  WORLD. 

Sow  in  the  morn  thy  seed, 

At  eve  hold  not  thine  hand  ; 
To  doubt  and  fear  give  thou  no  heed, 

Broad-cast  it  o'er  the  land. 

Beside  all  waters  sow, 

The  highway  furrows  stock. 
Drop  it  where  thorns  and  thistles  grow, 

Scatter  it  on  the  rock. 

The  good,  the  fruitful  ground, 

Expect  not  here  nor  there  : 
O'er  hill  and  dale,  by  plots,  'tis  found ; 

Go  forth,  then,  everywhere. 

Thou  know'st  not  which  may  thrive, 

The  late  or  early  sown  ;  I 

Grace  keeps  the  precious  germs  alive, 

When  and  wherever  strown. 

And  duly  shall  appear, 

In  verdure,  beauty,  strength ; 
The  tender  blade,  the  stalk,  the  ear, 

And  the  full  corn  at  length. 

Thou  canst  not  toil  in  vain ; 

Cold,  heat,  and  moist,  and  dry, 
Shall  foster  and  mature  the  grain 

For  garners  in  the  sky. 

Thence,  when  the  glorious  end, 

The  day  of  GOD  is  come, 
The  angel-reapers  shall  descend, 

And  Heaven  cry — "  Harvest-home  1*' 

1831 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


FAREWELL  TO  A  MISSIONARY. 

HOME,  kindred,  friends,  and  country, — these 
Are  things  with  which  we  never  part ; 

From  clime  to  clime,  o'er  land  and  seas, 
We  bear  them  with  us  in  our  heart ; 

And  yet  'tis  hard  to  feel  resign'd, 

When  they  must  all  be  left  behind. 

But  when  the  pilgrim's  staff  we  take, 
And  follow  Christ  from  shore  to  shore, 

Gladly  for  Him  we  all  forsake,' 
Press  on,  and  only  look  before  ; 

Though  humbled  nature  mourns  her  loss, 

The  spirit  glories  in  the  cross. 

It  is  no  sin,  like  man,  to  weep, 

Even  Jesus  wept  o'er  Lazarus  dead; 

Or  yearn  for  home  beyond  the  deep, — 
He  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head  ; 

The  patriot's  tears  Avill  He  condemn, 

Who  grieved  o'er  lost  Jerusalem  ? 

Take  up  your  cross,  and  say — "  Farewell :" 
Go'  forth  without  the  camp  to  Him, 

Who  left  heaven's  throne  with  men  to  dwell, 
Who  died  his  murderers  to  redeem : 

Oh  !  tell  his  name  in  every  ear, 

Doubt  not, — the  dead  themselves  will  hear,— 

Hear,  and  come  forth  to  life  anew ; 

— Then  while  the  Gentile  courts  they  fill, 
Shall  not  your  Saviour's  words  stand  true? 

Home,  kindred,  friends,  and  country  still, 
In  earth's  last  desert  you  shall  find, 
Yet  lose  not  those  you  left  behind. 


THE   PRISONER   OF   THE   LORD.  437 


"THE  PRISONER  OF  THE  LORD." 

A   SABBATH    HYMN    FOR   A   SICK   CHAMBER. 

THOUSANDS,  O  LORD  of  Hosts  !  this  day, 

Around  thine  altar  meet ; 
And  tens  of  thousands  throng  to  pay 

Their  homage  at  Thy  feet. 

They  see  Thy  power  and  glory  there, 

As  I  have  seen  them  too ;" 
They  read,  theyhear,  they  join  in  prayer, 

As  I  was  wont  to  do. 

They  sing  Thy  deeds,  as  I  have  sung, 

In  sweet  and  solemn  lays  ; 
Were  I  among  them,  my  glad  tongue 

Might  learn  new  themes  of  praise. 

For  Thou  art  in  their  midst,  to  teach, 
When  on  Thy  name  they  call ; 

And  Thou  hast  blessings,  LORD,  for  each, 
Hast  blessings,  LORD,  for  all. 

I,  of  such  fellowship  bereft, 

In  spirit  turn  to  Thee  ;  • 

Oh !  hast  Thou  not  a  blessing  left, 
A  blessing,  LORD,  for  me  ? 

The  dew  lies  thick  on  all  the  ground, 

Shall  my  poor  fleece  be  dry  T 
The  manna  rains  from  heaven  around, 

Shall  I  of  hunger  die  ? 

Behold  Thy  prisoner ; — loose  my  bands, 

If  'tis  Thy  gracious  will ; 
If  not, — contented  in  thine  hands, 

Behold  Thy  prisoner  still  t 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


I  may  not  to  Thy  courts  repair, 
Yet  here  Thou  surely  art ; 

LORD,  consecrate  a  house  of  prayer 
In  my  surrender' d  heart. 

To  faith  reveal  the  things  unseen, 
To  hope,  the  joys  untold  ; 

Let  love,  without  a  veil  between, 
Thy  glory  now  behold. 

Oh  !  make  Thy  face  on  me  to  shine, 
That  doubt  and  fear  may  cease  ; 

Lift  up  Thy  countenance  benign 
On  me, — and  give  me  peace. 


AN  AFTER-THOUGHT. 

I  CANNOT  call  affliction  sweet, 
And  yet  'twas  good  to  bear ; 

Affliction  brought  me  to  Thy  feet, 
And  I  found  comfort  there. 

My  weaned  soul  was  all  resign' d 
To  Thy  most  gracious  will ; 

Oh  !  had  I  kept  that  better  mind, 
Or  been  afflicted  still ! 

Where  are  the  vows  which  then  I  vow'd, 
The  joys  which  then  I  knew  ? 

Those  vanish'd  like  the  morning  cloud, 
These  like  the  early  dew. 

LORD,  grant  me  grace  for  every  day, 
Whate'er  my  state  may  be ; 

Through  life,  in  death,  with,  truth  to  say, 
"  My  GOD  is  all  to  me !" 

1831. 


OUR  SAVIOUR'S  PRAYERS.  45* 


OUR  SAVIOUR'S  PRAYERS.* 

PREAMBLE. 

HIGH  PRIEST  for  sinners,  Jesus,  Lord ! 

Whom  as  a  man  of  griefs  I  see, 
Thy  prayers  on  earth  while  I  record, 

If  still  in  heaven  thou  pray'st  for  me, 
My  soul  for  thy  soul's  travail  claim, 
I  seek  salvation  in  thy  name. 

PART  I. 

Baptized  as  for  the  dead  he  rose, 

With  prayer,  from  Jordan's  hallow'd  flood ; 

Ere  long,  by  persecuting  foes, 
To  be  baptized  in  his  own  blood  : 

The  Father's  voice  proclaim'd  the  Son,  {£*••• 

The  Spirit  witness'd  ; — these  are  one. 

Early  he  rose  ere  dawn  of  day, 

And  to  a  desert  place  withdrew, 
There  was  he  wont  to  watch  and  pray, 

Until  his  locks  were  wet  with  dew, 
And  birds  below,  and  beams  above, 
Had  warn'd  him  thence  to  works  of  lore. 

At  evening  when  his  toils  were  o'er, 

He  sent  the  multitudes  away, 
And  on  the  mountain  or  the  shore, 

All  night  remain 'd  alone  to  pray, 
Till  o'er  his  head  the  stars  grew  dim : 
—When  was  the  hour  of  rest  for  him  T 


•  In  thrip  rtnnem  (he  Scripture  quntntHni  are  from  thn*e  pnrafigiMi  to  \vlitm 
direct  reference  i»  Uitrnduil  tn  the  llnr*  lheninHv?ii,  riiln-r  tlmi  in  tin-  corre- 
sponding account*  of  il«  tain*  iraniacllon*  by  other*  of  llio  tacred  butonaiii. 


460  MISCELLANEOUS   POLMS. 


In  field  or  city  when  he  taught, 
IS.*!          Oft  went  his  spirit  forth  in  sighs ; 

And  when  his  mightiest  deeds  were  wrought, 
*££.  To  heaven  he  lifted  up  his  eyes ; 

He  pray'd  at  Lazarus'  grave,  and  shed 
johirii.     Tears,  with  the  word  that  waked  the  dead. 

When  mothers  brought  their  babes,  he  took 
JJJ.V          Their  lambs  into  his  arms,  and  pray'd ; 

On  Tabor,  his  transfigured  look, 
zfuV*"         While  praying,  turn'd  the  sun  to  shade, 

And  forms,  too  pure  for  human  sight, 

Grew  visible  amidst  his  light. 

"  O  Father !  save  me  from  this  hour, 
Yet  for  this  hour  to  earth  I  came  :" 

He  pray'd  in  weakness ;  then  with  power 
Cried,  "  Father !  glorify  thy  name  :" 

"  I  have,"  a  voice  from  heaven  replied, 
gbn.a     "And  still  it  shall  be  glorified." 

PART  II. 

2™!.  10.     For  Peter,  bold  in  speech  and  brave   . 

In  act,  yet  in  temptation  frail, 
M»"J,       (As  once  he  proved  him  on  the  wave,) 
iriLV         He  pray'd  lest  his  weak  faith  should  fail ; 

And  when  by  Satan's  snare  enthrall'd, 
££%,.     His  eye  the  wanderer  recall'd. 

Amidst  his  mournful  family, 

Who  soon  must  see  his  face  no  more, 
With  Avhat  divine  discourse  did  he 

Strength  to  their  fainting  souls  restore ! 
Then  pray'd  for  all  his  people  : — where 
™?        Have  words  recorded  such  a  prayer  I 

B«b.  y.      Next,  with  strong  cries  and  bitter  tears, 

Thrice  hallow'd  he  that  doleful  ground 


OUR   SAVIOUR  S   PRAYER. 


Where,  trembling  with  mysterious  fears, 
His  sweat  like  blood-drops  fell  around, 
And  being  in  an  agony, 
He  prayed  yet  more  earnestly. 

Here  oft  in  spirit  let  me  kneel, 

Share  in  the  speechless  griefs  I  see, 

And  while  he  felt  what  I  should  feel, 
Feel  all  his  power  of  love  to  me, 

Break  my  hard  heart,  and  grace  supply 

For  him  who  died  for  me  to  die. 

'Stretch'd  on  the  ignominious  tree 

For  those,  whose  hands  had  nail'd  him  there, 
Who  stood  and  mock'd  his  misery, 

He  offer' d  up  his  latest  prayer ; 
Then  with  the  voice  of  victory  cried, 
"  'Tis  finish'd,"  bow'd  his  head  and  died. 

Then  all  his  prayers  were  answer'd ; — all 
The  fruits  of  his  soul's  travail  gain'd ; 

The  cup  of  wormwood  and  of  gall 

Down  to  the  dregs  his  lips  had  drain'd ; 

Accomplished  was  the  eternal  plan, 

He  tested  death  for  every  man. 

Now  by  the  throne  of  GOD  he  stands, 

Aloft  the  golden  censer  bears, 
And  offers,  with  high  priestly  hands, 

Pure  incense  with  his  people's  prayers : 
Well  pleased  the  Father  eyes  the  Son, 
And  says  to  each  request,  "  'Tis  done." 


Lake 
udi.44 


4M  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


REMINISCENCE. 

REMEMBRANCE  of  the  dead  revives 

The  slain  of  time,  at  will ; 
Those  who  were  lovely  in  their  lives, 

In  death  are  lovelier  still. 

Unburden'd  with  infirmity, 

Unplagued  like  mortal  men, 
Oh  with  what  pure  delight  we  see 

The  heart's  old  friends  again ; 

Not  as  they  sunk  into  the  tomb, 
With  sickness-wasted  powers, 

But  in  the  beauty  and  the  bloom 
Of  their  best  days  and  ours. 

The  troubles  of  departed  years 

Bring  joys  unknown  before  ; 
And  soul-refreshing  are  the  tears 

O'er  wounds  that  bleed  no  more. 

Lightnings  may  blast,  but  thunder-showers 

Earth's  ravaged  face  renew, 
With  nectar  fill  the  cups  of  flowers,  • 

And  hang  the  thorns  with  dew. 

Remembrance  of  the  dead  is  sweet ; 

Yet  how  imperfect  this, 
Unless  past,  present,  future,  meet, 

— A  threefold  cord  of  bliss  ! 

Companions  of  our  youth,  our  age, 
With  whom  through  life  we  walk'd, 

And  in  our  house  of  pilgrimage, 
Of  home  beyond  it  talk'd : — 

Grief  on  their  urn  may  fix  her  eyes, 
— They  spring  not  from  the  ground ; 

Love  may  invoke  them  from  the  skies, 
— There  is  no  voice  nor  sound. 


EVENING    TIME.  483 


Fond  memory  marks  then  as  they  were, 

Stars  in  our  horoscope  ; 
But  soon  to  see  them  as  they  are, 

— That  is  our  dearest  hope. 

Not  through  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
To  waking  thought  unseal'd, 

But  in  the  uncreated  light 
Of  Deity  reveal'd. 

Tliey  cannot  come  to  us,  but  we 

Ere  long  to  them  may  go ; 
— That  glimpse  of  immortality 

Is  heaven  begun  below. 


EVENING  TIME. 

ZECH.  xiv.  7. 

AT  evening  time  let  there  be  light: — 
Life's  little  day  draws  near  its  close ; 

Around  me  fall  the  shades  of  night, 

The  night  of  death,  the  grave's  repose  ; 
To  crown  my  joys,  to  end  my  woes, 

At  evening  time  let  there  be  light. 

At  evening  time  let  there  be  light : — 
Stormy  and  dark  hath  been  my  day  ; 

Yet  rose  the  morn  benignly  bright, 

Dews,  birds,  and  flowers  cheer' d  all  the  way ; 
Oh  for  one  sweet,  one  parting  ray  ! 

At  evening  time  let  there  be  light. 

At  evening  time  there  shall  be  light : — 
For  GOD  harh  said, — "  So  1ft  it  be  !" 

Fear,  doubt,  and  anguish,  take  their  flight, 
His  glory  now  is  risen  on  m° : 
Mine  eyes  shall  his  salvation  see: 

— 'Tis  evening  time,  and  there  i*  light 

Ctnway  JVortA  H'tltt,  1838. 


464  •  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE  LOT  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS. 

"  Wo  know  that  all  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  GOD." 

Rum.  viii.  38. 

YEA, — "  ALL  things  work  together  for  their  good!" 

How  can  this  glorious  truth  be  understood  ? 

'Tis  like  JEHOVAH'S  throne,  where  marvellous  light 

Hides  in  thick  darkness  from  created  sight : 

The  first-born  seraph,  trembling  while  he  sings, 

Views  its  veil'd  lustre  through  his  shadowing  wings ; 

Or,  if  he  meets,  by  unexpected  grace, 

The  beatific  vision,  face  to  face, 

Shrinks  from  perfection  which  no  eye  can  see, 

Entranced  in  the  abyss  of  Deity. 

Yea, — "ALL  things  work  together  for  their  good!" 
How  shall  the  mystery  be  understood  ? 

From  man's  primeval  curse  are  these  set  free, 
Sin  slain,  death  swallow'd  up  in  victory  ? 
The  body  from  corruption  so  refined, 
'Tis  but  the  immortal  vesture  of  the  mind  ? 
The  mind  from  folly  so  to  wisdom  won, 
'Tis  a  pure  sunbeam  of  the  eternal  sun  ? 

Ah  !  no,  no ; — all  that  troubles  life  is  theirs, 
Hard  toil,  sharp  suffering,  slow-consuming  cares ; 
To  mourn  and  weep  ;  want  raiment,  food,  and  rest, 
Brood  o'er  the  unutter'd  anguish  of  the  breast ; 
To  love,  to  hope,  desire,  possess,  in  vain ; 
Wrestle  with  weakness,  weariness,  and  pain, 
Struggle  with  fell  disease,  from  breath  to  breath, 
And  every  moment  die  a  moment's  death. 

This  is  their  portion,  this  the  common  lot; 
But  they  have  sorrows  which  the  world  knows  not : 
— Their  conflicts  with  that  world,  its  fair,  false  joys, 
Ensnaring  riches  and  delusive  toys, 
Its  love,  its  hatred  ;  its  neglect  and  scorn ; 
With  self-abhorrence  harder  to  be  borne ; 


THE   LOT   OF   THE    RIGHTEOUS. 


The  pangs  of  conscience,  when  GOD'S  holy  law, 

Through  Sinai's  thunders,  strikes  them  dumb  with  awe ; 

Passions  disorder'd,  when  insane  desires 

Blow  the  rank  embers  of  unhallow'd  fires  ; 

Evils  that  lurk  in  ambush  at  the  heart, 

And  shoot  their  arrows  thence  through  every  part ; 

Harsh  roots  of  bitterness,  light  seeds  of  sin, 

Oft  springing  up,  and  stirrirg  strife  within ; 

Pride,  like  the  serpent,  vaunting  to  deceive, 

As  with  his  subtilty  beguiling  Eve ; 

Ambition,  like  the  great  red  dragon,  hurl'd, 

Sheer  from  heaven's  battlements  to  this  low  world, 

Boundless  in  rage,  as  limited  in  power, 

Ramping  abroad,  and  roaring  to  devour . 

— These,  which  blithe  worldlings  laugh  at  and  contemn, 

Are  worse  than  famine,  sword,  and  fire  to  them. 

Nor  these  alone,  for  neither  few  nor  small 
The  trials  rising  from  their  holy  call : 
— The  Spirit's  searching,  proving,  cleansing  flames; 
Duty's  demands,  the  Gospel's  sovereign  claims ; 
Stern  self-denial  counting  all  things  loss 
For  Christ,  and  daily  taking  up  the  cross; 
The  broken  heart,  or  heart  thut.ivill  not  break, 
That  aches  not,  or  that  cannot  cease  to  ache  ; 
Doubts  and  misgivings,  lest  when  storms  are  past, 
They  make  sad  shipwreck  of  the  faith  at  last : 
—These,  and  a  thousand  forms  of  fear  and  shame, 
Bosom-temptations,  that  have  not  a  nume, 
But  have  a  nature,  felt  through  flesh  and  bone, 
Through  soul  and  spirit, — felt  by  them  alone ; 
— These,  these  the  Christian  pilgrims  sore  distress, 
Like  thorns  and  briers  of  the  wilderness ; 
These  keep  them  humble,  keep  them  in  the  path, 
As  those  that  flee  from  everlasting  wrath. 

Yet,  while  their  hearts  and  hopes  are  fix'd  above, 
As  those  who  lean  on  everlasting  love, 
On  faithfulness,  which,  though  heaven's  pillars  bend, 
And  earth's  base  fail,  uphold  them  to  the  end ;— 


4M  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

By  them,  by  them  alone  'tis  understood, 
How  all  things  work  together  for  their  good. 
Would'st  THOU  too  understand  ? — behold  I  show 
The  perfect  way, — Love  God,  and  thou  shalt  know 


A  BENEDICTION  FOR  A  BABY. 

WHAT  blessing  shall  I  ask  for  thee, 

In  the  sweet  dawn  of  infancy  ? 

— That,  which  our  Saviour,  at  his  birth, 

Brought  down  with  Him  from  heaven  to  earth 

What  next,  in  childhood's  April  years 
Of  sunbeam  smiles  and  rainbow  tears? 
— That,  which  in  Him  all  eyes  might  trace, 
To  grow  in  wisdom  and  in  grace. 

What  in  the  wayward  path  of  youth, 
Where  falsehood  walks  abroad  as  truth  ? 
— By  that  good  Spirit  to  be  led, 
Which  John  saw  resting  on  his  head. 

What,  in  temptation's  wilderness, 
When  wants  assail,  and  fears  oppress  ? 
— To  wield  like  Him  the  Scripture-sword, 
And  vanquish  Satan  by  "the  word." 

What,  in  the  labour,  pain,  and  strife, 
Combats  and  cares  of  daily  life  ? 
— In  his  cross-bearing  steps  to  tread, 
Who  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head. 

What,  in  the  agony  of  heart, 
When  foes  rush  in,  and  friends  depart  ? 
—To  pray  like  Him,  the  Holy  One, 
"  Father,  thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done." 

What,  in  the  bitterness  of  death, 
When  the  last  sigh  cuts  the  last  breath  * 


EVENING    SONG.  4W 


— Like  Him  your  spirit  to  commend, 
And  up  to  paradise  ascend. 

What  in  the  grave,  and  in  that  hour, 
When  even  the  grave  shall  lose  its  powtr  ? 
— Like  Him,  your  rest  awhile  to  take ; 
Then  at  the  trumpet's  sound  awake, 
Him  as  He  is  in  heaven  to  see, 
And  as  He  is,  yourself  to  be. 


EVENING  SONG. 

FOR    THE     SABBATH    DAY. 

MILLIONS  within  thy  courts  have  met, 
Millions  this  day  before  thee  bow'd ; 

Their  faces  Zion-ward  were  set, 

Vows  with  their  lips  to  thee  they  vow'd : 

But  Thou,  soul-searching  GOD  !  hast  known 
The  hearts  of  all  lhat  bent  the  knee, 

And  hast  accepted  those  alone, 

In  spirit  and  truth  that  worshipp'd  Thee. 

People  of  many  a  tribe  and  tongue, 
Men  of  strange  colours,  climates,  lands, 

Have  heard  thy  truth,  thy  glory  sung, 
And  offer'd  prayer  with  holy  hands. 

Still,  as  the  light  of  morning  broke 

O'er  island,  continent,  or  deep, 
Thy  far-spread  family  awoke, 

Sabbath  all  round  the  world  to  keep. 

From  east  to  west,  the  sun  survcy'd, 
From  north  to  south,  adoring  throngs; 

And  still,  where  evening  stretch'd  her  shade 
The  stars  came  forth  to  hear  their  songs. 

Harmonious  as  the  winds  and  seas, 
In  halcyon  hours,  when  storms  are  flown, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Arose  earth's  Babel  languages, 
In  pure  accordance  to  thy  throne. 

Not  angel -trumpets  sound  more  clear, 
Not  elders'  harps,  nor  seraphs'  lays, 

Yield  sweeter  music  to  thine  ear 

Than  humble  prayer  and  thankful  praise. 

And  not  a  prayer,  a  tear,  a  sigh, 

Hath  fail'd  this  day  some  suit  to  gam : 

— To  those  in  trouble  Thou  wert  nigh ; 
Not  one  hath  sought  thy  face  in  vain. 

Thy  poor  were  bountifully  fed, 

Thy  chasten'd  sons  have  kiss'd  the  rod, 
Thy  mourners  have  been  comforted, 

The  pure  in  heart  have  seen  their  GOD. 

Yet  one  prayer  more ; — and  be  it  one, 
In  which  both  heaven  and  earth  accord ; 

— Fulfil  thy  promise  to  thy  Son, 
Let  all  that  breathe  call  Jesus  Lord  I 


A  WEDDING  WISH. 

TO    MR.    AND   MRS.    U. 

THE  cynosure  of  midnight  skies 

Appears  but  one  to  seamen's  eyes, 

Yet  twain  there  are, 

And  each  a  star, 

Perhaps  a  sun  : — 

May  you,  my  Friends,  reverse  the  view, 

And  while  on  earth  you  look  like  Two, 

From  heaven  be  seen  as  One  ; 

Yea,  like  that  polar  symbol  be 

A  double  star  of  constancy.* 

*  The  polar  itar,  seen  through  a  powerful  telescope,  appears  to  be  two,  very 
•ear  together. 


NOTES  TO  VOL.  II. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Page  293. 

i  In  November,  1825,  when  many  of  my  friends  and  neighbours 
honoured  me  with  a  public  entertainment,  on  retiring  from  my  long  luboun 
among  them,  as  owner  and  editor  of  a  local  Journal,  (see  the  general 
Preface  to  these  Volume?,}  there  were  others,  especially  ladies,  who 
could  not  conveniently  join  in  the  festivities  of  a  dinner-table,  but  who 
wished  to  show  me  some  token  of  kindness  on  the  occasion.  By  these 
a  few  weeks  afterwards,  I  was  presented  with  a  handsome  silver  ink- 
stand, of  home  manufacture,  for  myself,  and  two  hundred  sovereigns  to- 
wards the  expense  of  renewing  a  Christian  mission  by  the  United  Bre- 
thren (or  Moravians)  in  the  West  Indian  Island  of  Tobago,  which  had 
been  begun  by  my  parents  in  the  year  1789.  The  troubles  of  the 
French  Revolution  soon  afterwards  having  reached  that  colony,  the 
work  was  abandoned  in  the  following  year,  and  my  father  was  com- 
pelled to  take  refuge  in  Barbadoes,  where  he  had  been  previously  sta- 
tioned as  a  minister  of  the  gospel  of  peace  to  the  Negro  slaves.  Before 
his  flight,  my  mother  had  been  released  from  sharing  his  toils  and  suf- 
ferings on  earth,  and  her  bereaved  partner  had  deposited  her  remains, 
to  wait  the  resurrection  of  the  just,  in  the  little  garden  attached  to  their 
temporary  habitation,  there  being  no  Protestant  place  for  interment  in 
the  island : — thus  taking  possession,  though  «  hoping  against  hope,"  of 
the  land  where  he  had  sojourned  with  her  as  a  stranger  for  a  few 
months  only ; — like  the  Patriarch  Abraham,  when  he  bought  the  cave 
of  Machpelah  from  the  children  of  Heth,  to  bury  his  Sarah  in,  and  by 
thnt  earnest  of  his  contract  secure  the  promised  Canaan  to  hi*  |>o«trrit y 
through  many  generations,  when  he  had  as  yet  "  none  inheritance  in 
it;  no,  not  so  much  as  to  set  his  foot  on." 

During  the  war  with  England  which  enmed,  Tolmgo  fell  into  tho 
hands  of  our  countrymen,  and  has  lx%on  held  ever  since  by  tho  British 
Crown.  My  father,  noon  after  his  return  to  Barbados,  entered  into  lui 
rest ;  and  fir  thirty-five  years  following,  the  station  in  the  former  i-.'.mtl, 

40  *<  ' 


NOTES   TO    VOL.  II. 


where  he  had  broken  ground  only,  remained  unoccupied  for  the  pur- 
pose to  which  it  had  been  consecrated.  But  Mr.  Hamilton,  the  gentle- 
man at  whose  invitation,  and  under  whose  direct  patronage,  the  e\[>eri- 
ment  of  the  mission  on  his  estate  had  been  undertaken  by  my  parents, 
never  to  the  end  of  his  own  life  lost  sight  of  that  object ;  and  at  his 
death  he  bequeathed  a  considerable  legacy  for  its  promotion,  should 
the  Brethren  at  a  future  period  be  emboldened  to  resume  their  evan- 
gelical labours  there.  What  the  sum  left  by  Mr.  Hamilton  might  be» 
I  cannot  now  recollect,  but  I  have  been  informed,  that  it  was  so  well 
administered  by  his  representatives,  that,  when  the  mission  was  re-com- 
menced on  the  reserved  spot,  that  fund  amounted  to  a  thousand  pounds. 
To  this  my  benefactors  added  the  two  hundred  pounds,  which  they  had 
raised  to  gratify  me  by  a  proof  of  their  esteem,  the  most  humbling  and 
yet  the  most  exalting  that  could  be  devised, — namely,  by  stipulating 
that  their  bounty  should  be  appropriated  to  that  sacred  service,  in  which 
both  my  parents  had  laid  down  their  lives ;  -accompanied  by  an  earnest 
request,  that  the  settlement,  about  to  be  formed  in  the  field  of  their  last 
labours,  should  be  called  by  the  name  which  they  bore.  This  was 
readily  granted  by  the  authorities  of  the  Brethren's  Church,  the  El- 
der's conference  at  Herrnhut,  in  Germany,  who  direct  the  ecclesiastical 
affairs  of  the  body,  at  home  and  abroad,  from  synod  to  synod.  The 
mission  thus  revived  in  1825  has  gradually  increased;  and,  under  the 
name  of  "  Montgomery"  with  the  blessing  of  God  upon  the  preaching 
of  the  Gospel  by  his  servants  there,  may  it  perpetuate,  to  the  end  of 
time,  the  memory  of  those  sainted  relatives  who  left  that  name  to  me ! 
October  12,  1840. 

Page  320. 

2  Henry  Cornelius  Agrippa,  of  Nettesheim,  counsellor  to  Charles  V. 
Emperor  of  Germany, — the  author  of  «  Occult  Philosophy,"  and  other 
profound  works, — is  said  to.have  shown  to  the  Earl  of  Surrey  the  imago 
of  his  mistress  Geraldine  in  a  magical  mirror. 

Page  415. 

s  This  anticipation  has  been  accomplished.  The  adjacent  plantation 
has  rapidly  grown  up ;  the  ground  has  been  beautifully  laid  out ;  and, 
in  1835,  a  conspicuous  monument  was  erected,  by  public  subscription, 
on  the  spot  where  three  hundred  and  thirty-nine  bodies,  out  of  vpwurdi 
of  four  hundred  victims  of  the  cholera,  were  interred, — to  commemorate 
the  said  removal  of  the  sufferers  from  among  the  living,  and  their 
strange  insulation  after  death,  within  that  humble  enclosure.  The 
shaft  is  triangular,  diminishing  in  stories  from  the  base  to  the  summit, 
which  was  originally  surmounted  by  a  plain  cross  of  proportionate  ele- 


NOTES   TO   VOL.  II.  471 


ration.  Unfortunately,  in  the  hurricane  of  January  the  7th,  1839,  one 
third  of  the  whole  was  thrown  down.  It  has  subsequently  been  re- 
paired, and  crowned  with  a  less  graceful  form  of  cross,  by  which,  how- 
ever,  the  tapering  structure  will  be  less  liable  to  injury  from  elemental 
violence. 

The  two  following  Sonnets  were  composed  on  visiting  the  scene  of 
dilapidation,  in  February  of  the  same  year. 

i. 

Thou  tempest-broken  column !  still  stand  on ; 
More  fit  memorial  of  the  untimely  dead, 
Than  when  the  cross  upon  thy  summit  shed 
A  halo  round  this  Golgotha; — 'tis  gone, 
And  now  the  earnest  eye,  where  late  it  shone, 
Is  rapt  through  vague  infinity  instead, 
Up  the  blue  sky,  receding  over  head, 
Less  and  less  seen  the  longer  look'd  upon. 

Thus,  where  the  fragments  of  thy  pinnacle 
Lie  at  thy  base,  as  lie  within  this  plot 
The  bones  of  buried  mortals, — while  I  dwell 
On  where  and  what  may  l>e  the  spirit's  lot. 
Thought  falls  like  night  on  my  U*wilder'd  mind,— 
The  more  I  search  the  more  I  feel  I'm  blind. 

u. 

Yet  there  is  Hope,  thou  storm-struck  monument ! 
Stiind  on,  though  half  thy  glory  l>e  laid  low 
By  an  unseen  and  instantaneous  blow  : 
For,  as  the  wind,  which  thce  asdndcr  rent, 
Came  none  knew  whence,  and  none  knew  whither  went, 
80  the  plague  smote  the  slain  around  thee, — so 
Surpriwd  its  victims;  and,  with    U'".'  ton!  u>0/ 
Hundreds,  unwarn'd,  to  sudden  judgment  sent 

Not  for  the  dead,  ye  living !  but  the  unborn, 
O  let  the  symbol  of  redeeming  Love 
Again  this  renovated  shaft  adorn, 
And  point  from  death  In-low  to  life  above, 
That  all,  who  here  sin's  bitter  wa™r»  too, 
May  on  this  mount  remrmU  r  Calvary  ! 


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